


delicious, sweet, cold

by manykinsmen



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Driver Slumber Party but make it sad, Felching, First Time, Group Sex, Handcuffs, I know what I'm doing, Knotting, Lapdance, Light Bondage, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Outdoor Sex, Post-Heat Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Vibrators, don't talk to me while i'm ficcing, more tags to come as i write, sometimes it's super serious and sometimes it's absolute fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 27,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manykinsmen/pseuds/manykinsmen
Summary: Eighty-five percent of people presented by nineteen, ninety-five percent by twenty and some unlucky individuals never presented at all. Every morning for the last two years Lando had woken up wondering if today was going to be the day, but as time ticked on that excitement had receded and uncovered a pit of dread in his stomach.
Relationships: Alexander Albon/George Russell, Alexander Albon/George Russell/Max Verstappen, Alexander Albon/Max Verstappen, Antonio Giovinazzi/George Russell, Charles Leclerc/Everyone, Charles Leclerc/Kevin Magnussen/Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc/Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, Esteban Ocon/Lance Stroll, Kevin Magnussen/Everyone, Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr, Lando Norris/Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris/Daniel Ricciardo/Carlos Sainz Jr, Lando Norris/Everyone, Lando Norris/George Russell, Lewis Hamilton/Charles Leclerc/Kevin Magnussen/Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg, Nico Hulkenberg/Kevin Magnussen, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly/Lando Norris, Valtteri Bottas/Kevin Magnussen/Lando Norris/Kimi Räikkönen, Valtteri Bottas/Lando Norris, everyone/everyone basically
Comments: 261
Kudos: 303





	1. austria, 2020

He wasn’t even a rookie anymore.

Lando sighed, looking over his phone at Carlos. Somehow this list of celebrities who had presented late wasn’t inspiring him. Even so, he found the earnestness in Carlos’ wide eyes difficult to refuse. He scrolled a little further.

“Look see – Markiplier is on here. You like Markiplier and look how hot the guy is.” Carlos tapped the screen and zoomed in on the thick thighs in the image. “See? 26. That’s laaaate. What’s the rush?”

There wasn’t much point rattling off the statistics – everyone knew them. Eighty-five percent of people presented by nineteen, ninety-five percent by twenty and some unlucky individuals never presented at all. Every morning for the last two years Lando had woken up wondering if today was going to be the day, but as time ticked on that excitement had receded and uncovered a pit of dread in his stomach.

“Easy for you to say,” Lando huffed, pulling his cap down over his eyes.

Carlos pulled it back up, practically sitting in Lando’s lap so he could look him in the eyes. “You’ll feel better when we celebrate tonight.”

“What and I can drink milk like I did on the podium?” Not that he didn’t love milk – it just didn’t taste the same when everyone else was drinking champagne. The law was clear, you were not of age until you had presented – no alcohol, no tattoos, no cigarettes, no gambling, and no sex. Some races he even had to have a chaperone every moment he was out of the car. The house he’d bought with his own hard-earned cash was in his father’s name until it happened. His lip trembled. God, what if it never happened?

“Come on, you know we won’t make you.” Carlos tugged Lando’s hat back into place. He stood up, hoisting Lando out of his seat, and pushed the corners of his own mouth up with his index fingers. “Big smile now. You just got your first podium and there’s reporters outside.”

\--

“Huh?” Lando blinked at the woman in front of him. “I uh- Sorry… I think I can hear Dan back there somewhere. Um, what was the question?” He shifted uncomfortably on his awkward bar stool seat. Answering the same five questions for ten different interviews got boring very quickly.

“Are you worried at all about presenting?” Her hair was perfectly slicked back into a ponytail, her eyebrows pencilled to give her a constant expression of concern.

Lando swallowed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been asked about it before but this phrasing… He was glad that the mask hid his involuntary grimace. _Laugh it off. Come on Lando._ “Well, it won’t be ideal if it happens in the car, but I think I can cope.”

“Most of the drivers on the grid are alphas. It really gives them that competitive edge. Do you think that you will be the same?” Even the cameraman winced at that. Lando chuckled awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders. What an outdated, backward point of view to- “There’s been a lot of speculation from viewers, so we took a poll and here’s what the fans think.”

The woman obviously thought better of thrusting her phone at him, not that she could reach sat two meters away. Lando couldn’t get a read on her – he could never tell what people were until they said. He had been told that, once he’d presented, he’d be able to smell it, even with the masks on.

She cleared her throat and began to read. “20% think you will be an alpha, 45% a beta, 10% an-omega and 25% think you won’t present at-”

“I think that’s your time Miss. Lando’s got a very busy schedule today and we need him in the garage. Thank you very much, can you find your way out?” Zak’s voice pulled Lando out of his daze. Lando nodded, practically jumping out of his seat and taking off towards the garage.

“Thanks,” he said as soon as they were out of earshot.

“They shouldn’t be asking you questions like that. None of their business. You okay kid?” Zak slung a comforting arm over Lando’s shoulder.

“Yeah I… I just… They think I’m not competitive?”

“Don’t take it to heart. You did good – I’m proud of you. What a way to start the season.”

\--

It wasn’t the usual kind of celebration, but then this year wasn’t the usual kind of year. Drivers only, Bottas’ hotel suite – they were under strict instructions to keep the Formula 1 bubble intact. Even then, they were missing some: Esteban, Lance and Kevin had always preferred their own company and Lewis and Sergio were both off licking their wounds somewhere. Probably separately.

George scuffed at Lando’s hair with his knuckles and Lando couldn’t help but laugh. “Great race!” He poked his fingers into Lando’s sides until Lando shrieked with laughter, which summoned Alex, Max and Antonio to aid in the assault as Daniel whipped out his phone to film it.

“Mercy! Mercy!” Lando hiccoughed, wiping tears out of his eyes as they let him up. Once he had caught his breath, Kimi silently handed him a beer, tipping his cap a little before clapping Valtteri on the shoulder in congratulations.

As he took a swig of his beer, Lando took a moment to take it in. The good thing about being cooped up like this was there were no cameras to catch the underage drinking, still, it wasn’t how he’d imagined his first podium celebrations would be. Despite being the last across the line, Nicholas couldn’t stop beaming. Lando had been the same at the start of last season, God, his face had hurt from smiling.

The buzz tonight was very much around Valtteri and why wouldn’t it be? Maybe this was his year. Or maybe it was Lewis’ again, or Max’s, or even Charles… He blinked. No Charles. Surely he was pleased with second?

“Hey Landobot, wanna play?” Daniel tossed him an Xbox controller, the TV screen flashing up FIFA.

“I mean sure, but I suck at FIFA.”

Half an hour later and Daniel was crushing Lando. Seb’s backseat coaching wasn’t helping all that much. “No, no I told you bring Fernandes up there and then pass to Rashford and you set yourself up for an easy…” Seb trailed off.

Before Lando could even look up, he heard the thunk of Daniel’s controller hitting the floor. The room had hushed, Spotify playing to itself in the background. A deep growl rumbled from the other side of the room.

Charles leant against the door frame, clinging onto it for support, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black. His hair was damp with sweat, his shirt rucked up and sticking to his chest in places. Even Lando could smell the sex on him.

_Where are his shoes?_ The thought flashed across Lando’s mind as someone grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him out of his seat.

“Go get Kevin. Room 303.” No one had dared moved except Romain who was rapidly firing off instructions. “Nicholas: towels, water. Alex, you take Pierre. George, with me.”

Lando hadn’t even managed to get out of his seat before Max was storming across the room towards Charles, his teeth bared – it made Lando shudder. George and Romain put a wall of flesh between him and his target pushing him back into the corner. Glancing over at Pierre, Lando could see him licking his chops, his knuckles turning white as he gripped Alex’s hand.

Without betas, there would be chaos.

“Lando GO.” He didn’t need telling twice. He bolted out of the door and down the corridor, catching a glimpse of Kimi sweeping Charles off his feet and into the bedroom as he went.

_303\. 303. 303._ It didn’t take him long to find the right one and hammer on the door. “Kevin! Kevin it’s Charles-”

The door opened and closed again as Kevin stepped out, perfectly calm. “I’m surprised he made it this long. I could smell it on him on Friday.” He handed Lando a pack of energy drinks as he locked his door.

“You’re... You’re not…?” Lando blinked. He wasn’t good at guessing; he’d always just assumed-

“An alpha? No. You’re precious. I’m an omega – only other one on the grid.”

Back in Valtteri’s room the smell had only grown stronger. Kevin’s mouth twitched a little as he took it in. Max was still in the corner a makeshift icepack pressed against his jaw and a glazed expression on his face as George and Alex fussed over him. Pierre licked at his knuckles, his back against the wall as he sat with Romain. Lando grabbed hold of Kevin’s hand and squeezed it without thinking.

“That’s it, deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth,” George said softly, his face awash with relief for seeing Kevin.

“He’s fine George. Control comes with experience.” Kevin nodded his head at Kimi, Seb, Daniel and Valtteri who were playing the quietest game of Mario Kart Lando had ever witnessed. Someone had shut off Spotify and the brief moments of silence between groans and snarls and moans and grunts were punctuated by the Rainbow Road theme tune. “You two, with me.” Kevin beckoned Max and Pierre over to him.

Max’s stewards reluctantly let him go, George still giving breath coaching as he went. His hand latched onto Kevin’s hip possessively. A snarl rose in his throat at Pierre’s approach, which Kevin hushed with a frankly pornographic kiss. By the time Kevin managed to hip-check the bedroom door open, Max had already pulled the Haas shirt free and Pierre had a hand down the back of Kevin’s shorts.

In the sliver of a view he had into the bedroom, Lando caught sight of Carlos’ back muscles rippling as he thrust his hips. Lando’s mouth hung open, his cock twitching. Presumably Charles was in that tangle of bodies somewhere. Before he could mentally unpick them, Carlos bent forwards, his lips colliding with Antonio’s. Then the door closed again.

“Fuck!” Valtteri cursed as his kart was lifted back onto the track, tearing his eyes away from the bedroom door.

“Nice! First place! Oh crap – blue shell. Blue shell! NO!”

“You did deserve that Dan.”

“Shut up Sebastian.”

George took hold of Lando’s hand, cradling it between his own. “I’ll take you back to your room,” he said pulling Lando into the corridor before he could object. He sighed, offering Lando a one-armed hug. “Sorry you had to see that. We should have known Charles was going to go off.”

Is this how they thought of him? Some obstacle to be worked around? Some sexless being to be removed from the equation? A child? He shrugged George’s arm away.

“It’s fine. I’m a big boy,” he snarked.

“Look it’s just you’re not presented. It’s inappropriate and Charles will be embarrassed that-”

Lando yanked his door open. “Oh fuck off George.” George’s wounded expression made Lando regret his words immediately. “I’m sorry I just-” No, this wasn’t about him. “You should go see to Charles.”

He closed the door, sitting on the floor behind it. When he couldn’t hear George’s footsteps anymore, Lando let himself cry.


	2. styria, 2020

If he really thought about it, and he often did, Lando supposed he was probably going to present as an alpha.

Contrary to popular belief, betas were statistically early presenters, which Lando supposed made sense from a survival standpoint. Young alphas were notoriously short-tempered, especially around omegas. The biological function of a beta was to be a calming presence and make sure as many people survived as possible – they weren’t sexless the way the media often depicted them, just not as prone to frenzy. They could even go into pseudo-heat or pseudo-rut if their bodies detected a significant imbalance in overall hormone levels for an extended period of time, though there were medications you could take for that these days.

Presentation distribution was approximately even across the three in society as a whole, but in most kinds of sport the numbers skewed dramatically in favour of alphas. Racing was no exception. In Formula 1, Lando could count on his fingers the number of non-alpha champions: _John Surtees - beta, Denny Hulme - beta, Jody Schechter – beta, Damon Hill – beta, Nico Rosberg – omega._ If they weren’t presented by the time they arrived in the sport, omegas typically did in the first few races, their bodies reacting to the overwhelming levels of alpha, trying to even out the numbers. There simply weren’t the right hormones present to spur on alpha presentation, so the body could take its sweet time.

This wasn’t a fool-proof predictive model, just some rough guesswork and Lando certainly didn’t feel like an alpha. He didn’t feel much like anything.

Lando had barely seen anyone outside of the track and the garage, though he had certainly heard them. Charles’ room was above his and several nights the thumping and banging had been so terrible he’d been forced to sleep in Carlos’ room. Carlos was even sometimes there, smothering Lando in affection and cuddling so full of the desperate need to touch. It was all hormones, really.

The FIA probably shouldn’t have let Charles race that weekend, not with his first heat after lockdown still tailing off. It was obvious he wasn’t thinking straight, even more so after the crash. By the time Charles walked into Lewis’ suite for the post-race celebrations, his scent had faded to undetectable levels for Lando. He curled up on the sofa, his head in Seb’s lap as Seb stroked his hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was an accident, please forgive me,” he wailed, distraught.

Lando had never seen Charles like this before, messy with the weepy after emotions of a rough heat – nor had he ever seen Seb so willing to forgive an incident. The party was much more sedate this time around, almost everyone looked exhausted.

Lewis pinched the back of Lando’s neck affectionately as he flopped down beside Lando, clinking their beer glasses together. It was a greeting meant for children, a gentle pressure on their inactive scent gland, like a distant relative might say “look how you’ve grown.” Lando rolled his eyes, shrugging Lewis’ hand away.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a grown up. I know. Look at you, coming after my title.” Lewis chuckled. Yeah, Lando had been doing unexpectedly well so far. “First non-presenter on the podium and third in the standings. I’m proud of you.”

Lando scowled. “Don’t remind me.”

“Okay,” Lewis wrapped an arm around Lando’s shoulder. “It’s different for everybody and that’s okay. Maybe you’re a late bloomer but you’re ahead of the rest of us. Even Max didn’t make the podium until he’d presented. Plus, you’re ahead of him in the points right now.”

Max paused mid-conversation with Carlos and frowned across the room. “You talking shit Hamilton?”

“Yeah, you.” Lewis stuck his tongue out childishly as Max flipped him off. Carlos’ brow furrowed with concern. “Lando’s angsty.”

“Again?” Now it was Max’s turn to roll his eyes.

Lando felt everyone’s gaze fall on him. His cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. He hated this, feeling so small, so young and foolish and pathetic. Everything he had achieved on the track dissolved when they were here like this, just people hanging out. He pulled up his hood and drew his drawstrings tight until his face almost disappeared. “Shut up. Being mean to me.”

Carlos shushed Max and came to wrap Lando in a defensive hug, nudging Lewis out of the way with his shoulder. “Only I get to be mean to Lando.”

“Scent-mark him why don’t you?” Daniel cackled from somewhere behind them. “You cradle-snatcher.”

Lando could feel Carlos recoil instinctively, then force himself to laugh it off. He released Lando. “You’re disgusting Ricciardo – he’s like my little brother.” Suddenly Lando was glad of the hood. He bit down on his own lip behind the fabric.

_I want him._

It hadn’t really occurred to Lando before. He hadn’t let himself think about it. He was so used to the want like a background noise you couldn’t hear anymore – not just Carlos, somebody, anybody. It had been better back in Formula 2 when he could fool around with the others. When he was a kid among kids and it was fine. It was like a light turned on in his head. Even if they wanted to treat him like one of them, to include him, to touch him, they couldn’t. It would be worse than career ending.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, took a couple of quiet deep breaths and followed Carlos’ lead, forcing himself to laugh, pulling his hood down. “This was fun guys but I should go. I’m pretty tired, got a flight in the morning.”

“Aww, you hear that? It’s Lando’s bedtime folks.” Lewis elbowed Lando in the ribs. “Nah I’m kidding. Good race kid, see you tomorrow.”

\--

He couldn’t sleep. It didn’t matter that, for the first time all week, there was silence from Charles’ room. Lando rolled onto his side and turned on the bedside lamp, looking out at the lights of the city. He’d tried everything from a quick wank to watching ASMR videos on his phone. Nothing.

Just as he was thinking about giving up and booting up a game, there was a knock at the door.

“Lando… Lando are you awake?” Said a familiar, whispered voice.

He padded across the room in his t-shirt and boxers and opened the door to Charles.

“Wish I wasn’t. What’s up?”

“I… I wanna talk to you. Can I come in?” There was a little beer on Charles’ breath and he looked as if he’d been crying his eyes out all night.

“Sure.” Lando shut the door behind them and sat down on the edge of his bed, letting Charles sit beside him.

“I’m sorry. About this week. I feel terrible.” Charles rested his head on Lando’s shoulder and instinctively Lando’s hand went to smooth over Charles’ hair. “I should have been more in control. It wasn’t fair of me to be like that around you.”

“It’s not your fault. Hormones and stuff, I get it. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Charles sighed, sniffling as if tears were threatening to escape him again. It was strange to see the difference between the grid’s two omegas – Kevin so calm and composed and Charles… Well, Charles being Charles. “And about Carlos. I’m sorry.”

Lando frowned, lifting Charles’ chin so he could look at him a little better. He should probably have put the light on. “What do you mean?”

“Carlos. I’ve stolen him from you.” Oh. Yeah, that. Lando had almost forgotten that Carlos was abandoning him for Ferrari at the end of the season. His stomach sank.

“It’s just racing. It doesn’t-”

Charles pressed a soft kiss to Lando’s mouth. Lando could hear his own blood moving through his body, the almost painful beat of his heart. Charles pressed a hand against Lando’s chest, his touch almost scalding, then pushed himself away. “I shouldn’t. No. I’m sorry. I’ve had too much to drink.”

Lando’s hands reached for Charles as he stood and barely touched before he moved away.

“This didn’t happen, okay. You dreamt this. I’m sorry Lando.”

The door clicked closed behind Charles and, once again, Lando wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your encouragement! Let me know what you think, please. It really helps motivate me.


	3. hungary, 2020

By the third race, it had become apparent that the pre-season lockdown followed by an enforced bubble had brought everyone’s hormones out of alignment. To make things worse, there was mounting evidence that suppressants made you even more vulnerable to coronavirus, so the FIA had been forced to ban them for the season. Before qualifying was even over, Pierre and Max had already been separated twice.

“This is not good. Lando stay out of their way – they’re both rutting.” Carlos pushed Lando behind him defensively when either of them got too close, despite Lando’s protests - Max was his friend, he wanted to make sure he was okay. Carlos insisted that Lando didn’t want to feel their teeth in his throat.

It was torturous. Everyone seemed on edge in a way that Lando couldn’t fully comprehend, even the usually unflappable Kimi, who stuck close to Kevin, making sure those grabbing hands kept to themselves when the cameras were on. Charles mostly stayed squirreled away in the Ferrari motorhome, too tender from his own heat to be able to withstand the thick alpha pheromones.

Lando was pouring himself some rice krispies at the breakfast buffet on Sunday morning when he caught sight of Max taking Alex’s ear between his teeth and yanking. Alex yelped and offered his neck in submission. Max pressed his face to the exposed skin and breathed, a rumbling growl barely muffled as he breathed deep, scenting.

“Max, if it’s this bad, maybe you shouldn’t-” Alex interrupted himself with another yelp as Max sank his teeth into Alex’s flesh.

_Shit._ There wasn’t anyone else here. _Okay. Big boy moment._ Lando took a deep breath and cleared his throat, coming to sit in one of the vacant seats opposite them. He could see Max’s fist clench the tablecloth as he released Alex, turning his attention back to his toast and biting into it savagely. Alex stared at Lando wide-eyed.

It was an impulsive move, a stupid move really, but Lando reached out and pressed his hand over Max’s fist, stroking his thumb over the swell of Max’s wrist. “You okay?”

Lando felt Max’s muscles relax, his coiled fingers unclenching as he let out a heavy breath and blinked as if he’d been pulled out of a daze. “Yeah. Yeah, just gotta get through this race. I’ve never done a trackside rut without a dampener.” He looked across at Alex and the bruise blossoming on his neck as if he was surprised. “Fuck. Sorry.”

Alex reached for Max’s other hand, echoing Lando’s soothing movements. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Just focus on not tearing Pierre’s head off.”

Max’s chuckle came like a breaking wave. “It’s so stupid. I like Pierre. He’s a friend.” He shrugged his hands free and rubbed them over his face. “At least Lance isn’t in rut too.”

“Oh God, can you image?” Alex groaned.

The youngest alphas on the grid definitely found it hardest to navigate hormones and the current mess made it borderline impossible not to give into the impulse to slug each other on sight. Lando had seen them hopped up on omega scent. If there were three of them fighting over an omega in heat, there would be enough blood on the track to warrant slick tyres.

For a few minutes, it was a normal breakfast, Lando’s cereal getting soggy as they talked about when they thought Cyberpunk 2077 was finally going to be released. Alex made a strong argument that it was going to be stuck in development so long it never got released.

“See you at the track,” Max mumbled, getting up to leave as Daniel arrived, avoiding other alphas as much as he could. Ever the worried team-mate, Alex stood to follow, offering a small wave.

“Jeez, someone’s wet,” Daniel grimaced, eyeballing Alex’s seat before sliding into the seat Max had vacated. His eyes followed Alex. “Gonna be an interesting one.”

Lando frowned. It was so much harder to parse these things when you couldn’t smell what was going on.

\--

No one had ever been so glad for the race to be over. Max had winced his way through the podium and excused himself from interviews as soon as humanly possible. Lando was already seeing articles appear on his timeline documenting the expected flow of heats and ruts among the drivers and speculating if any of them would be forced to withdraw because of it. Some articles were lambasting the FIA for how they’d handle Charles, Max and Pierre so far and bookies were even taking odds on heat and rut related withdrawals.

“Lando Norris - 50/50,” he read aloud to Carlos, wrinkling his nose. “While he is currently unpresented, it is more than likely that with all these hormones flying around, Norris will pop sometime during this unprecedented season. First and heats being notoriously strong, it’s unlikely he would be fit to drive if it lined up with a grand prix race. McLaren is almost certainly praying for a beta.”

“Which awful magazine is running this story?” Carlos said, disdain heavy in his voice.

“Only Sky fucking Sports. They’ve got you down for 5/1.” Lando continued to read. “Sainz has a reputation for being level-headed and dependable in these matters but could still be swept up in a domino effect.”

Carlos sighed, moving behind Lando to bundle him up in a hug as they sat together on the bed. Nobody was particularly keen on a group hang out tonight, so it was just the two of them, watching movies and chatting. Carlos squeezed Lando, resting his head on Lando’s shoulder.

“Do you… Do you want me to be a beta…?”

“You shouldn’t read this stuff.” Carlos raised his hands to knead at Lando’s tense shoulders, the thumb of his left hand resting softly against Lando’s scent gland.

“Just- Just answer the question, okay. Please?” Lando’s voice was a hoarse whisper, a lump in his throat.

“Lando, it doesn’t matter. You’ll still be my teammate and my friend.” He paused, his hands stilling for a moment, making Lando squirm, desperate for touch. “But for the record, I think you would make a gorgeous little omega. I like taking care of you.”

Carlos pressed a gentle kiss to Lando’s temple and Lando felt something burst within him. He couldn’t help it. He was hiccoughing and full of tears in moments. Carlos was panicking.

“Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry. You’re probably going to be an alpha, I… Lando… Lando…?” Suddenly Carlos was looking at Lando, searching desperately for approval. He swept a stray lock of hair out of Lando’s face. “Talk to me. Please. Talk to me.”

It took a few minutes of Carlos hushing him for Lando to regain enough composure to speak. Carlos held him through it, letting Lando tremble with the sobs.

“I just… What if I’m broken Carlos? What if no one ever wants me?” Lando buried his face in Carlos’ armpit. _What if you never want me?_

“Who wouldn’t want you?” Carlos’ voice was breathy in his ear, his hands wrapped low around Lando’s waist. Then Lando’s hiccoughs returned and Carlos got up to fetch a glass of water. Oscar Isaac seemed to stare accusingly at Lando from the TV screen, his mouth paused in a snarl, eyebrow raised.

“Drink it slowly,” Carlos hummed, studying Lando as he drank in shallow gulps before settling back behind him. It felt so natural to have Carlos curled around him like this, like they were made to slot neatly together. A pang of jealousy struck him in the gut. Would he be like this with Charles?

“I don’t want you to go to Ferrari. I don’t want you to leave-” Carlos hushed him again.

“It’s just racing Lando. We’ll always be like this. I promise. Now shut up and watch the movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. Not entirely sure which way Lando's gonna go yet. Thoughts?


	4. britain, 2020

By Britain, the Red Bull engineers had prototyped a special filter mask. It wasn’t technically FIA sanctioned – or anywhere sanctioned – but they needed to do something before the season went off track and into the wall. They were even generous enough to share the design with the other teams. It was in everybody’s interest that heads stayed attached to shoulders.

The first time Lando saw Max wearing it, he had to laugh. He looked like he was heading out for a cybergoth rave and he told him as much (he got a dig in the shoulder in return). Soon enough though, most of the paddock was wearing one, at least around the circuit and not just the drivers but the engineers too.

“What’s it feel like?”

“Like earmuffs for my nose.” Fortunately, it didn’t make Max sound like Darth Vader, just like he was broadcasting via the team radio. “I can barely smell anything. It’s so uncomfortable. How do you live like this?”

Lando shrugged, taking a sip from his water bottle. “How do you live like that? Angry all the time?”

“I…” Max sighed, leaning on the pit wall. “It’s not like being angry. It’s more like you turn around for a moment and your body punched someone while you were gone. I hate it Lando. I wish I was a goddamn beta or something. You’re lucky.”

“Lucky? You think I’m lucky? What plane of existence are you living on?” Lando’s brow furrowed involuntarily. He hadn’t meant to use such a serious tone. He sighed, watching the Williams mechanics horsing about in the distance. “Sorry- I just… You all treat me like a little kid. When I do well it’s all _look at the precious baby doing it all by himself_ and when I do badly it’s _oh poor Lando_ , _its so hard for him playing with the big boys maybe he needs to go back to the kiddie pool._ ”

Max hummed a low note in response. “It was like that my first season – but then I guess I was a kid.” He shook his head, then offered Lando a fist bump. “Good luck in qualifying. I’ll see you later.”

\--

Kevin and Nico weren’t exactly subtle about it.

“Like I love Nico but I am glad it’s not me walking in on them all the time this season,” Daniel said through a mouthful of pasta. “I could identify his cock in a line-up.”

“You say this like you haven’t had your cock in Kevin as well,” Seb retorted, a much more delicate eater.

Lando nibbled on his garlic bread, his eyes darting around the table as he tried to follow the thread of conversation. He usually ordered room service, especially on a Saturday evening, but in the year of our Lord 2020, his social bar was feeling pretty depleted. The older drivers more commonly ate as a group.

“I mean yeah, but like platonically. Bio-fucking’s not the same. Doesn’t usually come with mood lighting.” Daniel waved his fork around as he spoke.

“The Renault motorhome has mood lighting?” Lewis quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“No, but Kevin’s hotel room does.” Lando could have sworn he saw the corner of Kimi’s mouth curve into a smirk as he spoke, but his expression returned to neutral as quickly as it had changed. Lewis almost snorted water out of his nose.

“You know about the threesome?” Daniel’s mouth hung open. Kimi offered a shrug of consolation and reached for another piece of bread. “Guess I’ll get a confidentiality clause next time.”

“Please. Like you wouldn’t be the first to break it.” Seb’s eyes glinted mischievously. He made no effort to smother his broad grin. His gaze fell on Lando. “So, how’s it going? Do you have a girlfriend yet?”

Lando flushed impressively pink, the colour crawling up his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. This was one of his least favourite interview questions. He shook his head a little too hard. “Nah – No. I don’t really do the whole, y’know…” He trailed off, looking awkwardly out of the window.

“Ok so no girls. A boyfriend, then? A crush? Maybe we can help you out with that.”

“Aww Seb leave the poor kid alone. He doesn’t want dating advice from some old creep.” Daniel winked, big and pantomime. “Not when there’s a legendary stud present.”

“You mean Kimi?” Lewis chuckled. Kimi pulled his sunglasses over his eyes like he didn’t need to see his hand in front of his face in the dimly lit hotel restaurant.

“So go on then. Is it me? Nah, you don’t have to say - it’s me. I’m sorry Lando baby, I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not until you- OWW JESUS KIMI.”

Kimi cuffed Daniel round the back of the head. Another round of chuckled echoed around the table. Lando offered Kimi a small smile of thanks before looking down at his fingers and drumming them against the edge of the table.

“I mean there’s no point in me dating right now, is there? I don’t know. Maybe soon, maybe not.”

Lewis nodded thoughtfully, his chin resting on his hands. He looked across at Daniel, a contemplative expression on his face. “So how big is it Dan? Are the rumours true about what’s in those cargo shorts?”

\--

The night after the race Lando couldn’t sleep again. There was only one thing he hadn’t tried. He stuck in some headphones and went for a late-night jog around the hotel grounds in an attempt to tire himself out. It had been an okay race – better than okay really, a pretty damn good race – but for some reason he felt off. Ten minutes in and he was finishing his second circuit (there wasn’t really anywhere to run except around the same four buildings) when he spotted them.

Nico had Kevin pressed up against a tree. It was pretty out of view, unless you were doing laps for some reason, but still, anyone could have happened upon them. When he tugged an earbud out, Lando could even hear them from a good fifty yards away, Nico’s low grunts matching up with Kevin’s breathy gasps.

Lando idly considered the appeal of fucking outside, wrinkling his nose. He didn’t get it – but then Kevin was an outdoorsy type. He probably got off on the scent of pine, or something. Then he realised he was still watching, Nico’s thrusts shaking the branches just a little. Before he could decide what to do, Kevin turned his head and startled, his eyes going wide as he batted a hand back at Nico.

“Lando? Lando, ah fuck-” Nico shuddered against Kevin’s back as Kevin cleared his throat, coming to a jittering halt. “Nico. Nico, seriously.”

It seemed to take Nico a moment to collect himself before he took a step back, allowing Kevin to pull his trousers up as he zipped up his own fly. “I uh- Ah- Shouldn’t you been in bed?”

“Shouldn’t you two?”

“Touché,” Nico mumbled, his eyebrows higher on his face than Lando had ever seen. Kevin pressed a hand over his face in embarrassment.

“You should be glad I’m not a photographer. I mean, Christ guys. Why?”

“… Fun…?”

“Nico you’re not helping.” Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. This was… Really fucking stupid. Just… Just don’t tell anyone, please?”

Lando stretched an arm out, inviting them to go back to their rooms. “I’m not a grass. Don’t worry… Don’t do it again, I guess.” He made sure to watch the pair go back inside as they sheepishly excused themselves, then switched the track on his phone, searching for something more aggressive. It was looking increasingly unlikely he was going to get any sleep at all tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this isn't where I imagined this chapter would go when I started it but um... This is a thing now.


	5. seventieth anniversary, 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets pretty dark and some pretty dubious stuff happens in it. If, for whatever reason, you don't wish to read about sexual coercion (the act itself is not detailed and it's not the POV character), I would skip this chapter.

It was past seven on Saturday when they called the meeting. Lando took his seat next to Carlos, glancing around to see if anyone looked like the had the faintest idea what was going on – nobody did. Not even Lance, though there had been a rumbling through the paddock that it was about Checo. Lando braced himself for bad news, reaching out for Carlos’ hand and keeping a tight grip on it, their fingers locked together, as Otmar moved to the front to address them.

“I know you’ve all been asking about Checo and we do have some good news. He’s on the mend.” The sound of the entire room letting out a breath of relief in unison interrupted him. “However, he won’t be racing tomorrow as he has gone into rut.”

This was new. There was murmuring among the drivers. If heats and ruts would mean that people would be ruled out of racing, it threw the entire season wide open.

Otmar continued. “Honestly, we’ve never seen anything like it. The Doctors have been suggesting for a while now that Covid affects the hormone balance in your body but the sheer levels of aggression… Well. That’s why we’ve called this meeting. We need someone to see him through it and we’ve been told in no uncertain terms that we can’t bring anyone in from outside the bubble…” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Even Lando could feel the tension in the room. Carlos squeezed his hand even tighter while Charles squirmed in the seat on his other side as if he wanted to hide away. Lando reached across and squeezed Charles’ shoulder, letting him lean into his side.

Guenther stepped forward, taking over from Otmar. “We’ve come to an agreement. Kevin will help him ride it out.”

It took a moment for the penny to drop. “What?” Kevin didn’t raise his voice, but the room had become so quiet it felt like he was shouting. “But my race-”

“It’s been agreed, Kevin.” Guenther folded his arms, giving Kevin a stern look. “We will tell the public that the car isn’t fit to race.”

Kevin’s expression had slipped, his mouth curving downwards, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You didn’t even consult me-”

“You’re being consulted now.”

_This isn’t right._ Lando looked desperately at the other drivers – Sebastian, Daniel, Lewis, anyone – but nobody moved. Maybe it was the surprise.

“They offered you money for it? Is that it? Well I’m not doing it. I won’t be your whore.” Kevin’s voice had gone up in pitch, a strange tremble to it. He stood suddenly, his seat making an awful screech as it slid across the floor. He turned to leave.

“You’ll do it if you want a seat next year,” Guenther snapped back as Kevin left, Romain taking off after him, a mess of concern.

Lando could feel the blood rushing in his body. Charles was shaking beside him, Alex and George both looking at their feet as if they didn’t want attention to fall on them, Esteban pulling his cap low over his face. It could just as easily have been one of them chosen – could still be. Lando bit the inside of his lip.

He stood up, aware of how small and ridiculous he looked in front of everyone. His voice faltered at his first attempt to get words out, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “This isn’t right. You can’t ask Kevin to do that.”

“It’s been agreed – the stewards have approved it.” Guenther’s gaze on him felt like having the headmaster staring him down at school. It took everything he had not to shrink away. “It’s not like he’s a contender for the podium anyway.”

“That’s not the point!” The shout in Lando’s voice even surprised him. He scanned the room, looking from one alpha to the next for back up, but none came. Even Carlos flinched away from his gaze. “Don’t any of you have a fucking backbone? Nico? Anyone?” He shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t think straight. Words were tumbling out of his mouth before he knew what they were.

Then he said it. “If Kevin doesn’t race tomorrow then I won’t either.” His whole body shook as Guenther raised an eyebrow at him.

“And what will Zak have to say about-”

“Me either.” Carlos interrupted, getting to his feet as well. He squeezed Lando’s hand, offering him a sad smile. “Lando is right. And Zak will back us up.”

Lando squeezed his eyes tight shut, trying his best not to cry. He heard the scrape of another chair and then George’s soft, measured tone. “I’m a backmarker too but I won’t race without Kevin tomorrow, not even for a podium.”

When Lando opened his eyes again, Lewis had squared up to Guenther. “Call the stewards here. I think we would all like to voice a complaint.”

\--

“Thank you,” Kevin said quietly as he and Lando made their way through the turnstiles into the paddock.

Lando brushed him off with a shrug and a small smile. “You would have done the same for me.”

Kevin stalled a moment before their paths diverged. “I hope you’re right… You know, I am glad that I got to race against you.”

\--

Ninth. It wasn’t his best result, but it was everything he could get out of the car today so Lando didn’t allow himself to be disappointed. He scanned the race results, frowning when he got to Kevin’s name. He vaguely recalled Will telling him that Kevin had retired but in the heat of the race it hadn’t really sunk in.

“Tire shortage? What do they mean tire shortage?” He asked Carlos, his brow furrowed in dismay, a creeping feeling of dread growing in his stomach as he read Carlos’ expression. “Where’s Kevin?”

Carlos sighed, scratching the back of his head. “He went to see to Checo. He usually does take care of us when its bad. His race was over anyway.”

“I… Did they- Did they do it on purpose?” Carlos’ face said enough.

“I’m sorry Cabrón. We tried our best. It’s a cruel sport sometimes.”

Lando pushed Carlos away as he tried to offer him a hug, tears blossoming in his eyes. “Well it shouldn’t be. Maybe I’m just a stupid kid but at least I don’t just accept it when things are wrong.”

Carlos looked startled. He reached again. “Lando, I-”

“Save it, Carlos. I’m going back to my room.” Lando pushed him away and made for the door, ignoring Carlos’ pleading voice in the background.

\--

Tonight, Lando hated the ceiling of his hotel room. He wished he was back in his house, or home with his parents. He’d called his mum earlier but couldn’t bring himself to tell her what was going on. He thought of Kevin with Checo. He couldn’t even be mad at Sergio – it wasn’t his fault, he never asked for them to do that. Lando couldn’t imagine what it was like for him, isolated when he needed someone most.

His moodiness was interrupted by a soft knock.

“Go away Carlos.”

“Lando, it’s George,” came George’s endlessly calming voice that Lando could seldom resist. Before he could think about it, he was letting George in and George was wrapping him in the warmest, loveliest hug, resting his chin on Lando’s head. Lando could have stayed in that hug forever, but George broke away to close the door.

Wordlessly, George booted up Lando’s console and put on Mario Kart, sitting so close beside him on the bed that their thighs met. They did this more often back when they were teens, before Alex had presented in the middle of his seventeenth birthday party and George had followed just days afterwards. It was always like that - the three of them playing videogames and fooling around before Lando had been left behind. Alex was probably with Max tonight after his win.

“I’m sorry I’ve been treating you like a child. It was wrong of me.” George said part way through their third race. “And I won’t do it anymore - I don’t care if you’re not presented, it’s not fair. You were the only one who behaved like an adult last night.”

Lando paused the game and put his head on George’s shoulder, letting George hold him and stroke his hair. “I… I keep thinking about Kevin. How they made him-” He choked, his voice sticking in his throat.

“We’ll be better Lando. One day it will be us at the top and we’ll change things, you and me. I promise.”

He’d never seen George with such a steely, determined look in his eye. Before he knew what he was doing, Lando was pressing his lips against George’s and George was cupping the back of his head and he’d never been kissed like this before – like it wasn’t silly or wrong. It felt like everything he’d been denied for so long.

Part of him wanted to kiss George forever, but another part couldn’t stop thinking about where Kevin was tonight. He pulled away. “George… Will you stay tonight? I just…”

“Yeah. I know. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

George held him all night.


	6. spain, 2020

By Friday night, Lando knew that the weekend wasn’t going to be anything to write home about. The fog of anger from the previous race was still following him around and he hadn’t spoken to Carlos properly since. Twice he’d put his headphones in as Carlos walked towards him. It wasn’t just Carlos either – he hadn’t gamed with Max either and all attempts to get him and Daniel more comfortable around each other ahead of next season had been stilted and awkward.

“I don’t understand why you’re so ready to let it go,” he huffed at Alex as George and Nicholas booted up Overwatch.

“’Cause it’s my head that rolls if I don’t. You lot are all sitting pretty and I’m… Well I might end up knocking on Guenther’s door.” Alex chewed his bottom lip to shreds. It wasn’t fair, Lando considered. Alex was giving it everything he had and luck was never on his side – nor was Red Bull, really.

“Alex, you can’t. You know how they treat-”

“Any seat’s better than no seat,” Alex snapped back at Lando, flashing a little bit of tooth. For a moment all of them simply stared before Alex shook himself out of it and shrank back. “Sorry. I’ve been spending too much time with Max. Picked up some habits.”

Lando pulled Alex into a hug. He was more of a jetpack than a big spoon, but he made up for it with extra tightness. From this angle, he could see the yellowing bruises that Alex’s collar usually obscured, another hidden behind his ear from the other week. “Does Christian make you…?”

“No. It’s just bio-fucking. Everyone does it.” Alex leant back to rest his head on Lando’s shoulder, sliding down until he was sitting at an angle and Lando’s arms were almost at his nipples. His polo rode up and he didn’t bother to fix it.

Nicholas frowned. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, you’re ace that’s why.” George threw a travel pillow at Nicholas’s head, breaking the tension. “You’re like a walking beta stereotype.” Nicholas laughed and flung the pillow back. George wasn’t quite so lucky with his dodge and let out a small _oof_ as it hit him in the stomach.

“It just doesn’t do anything for me. I never understood why people were into it – other than having kids, I guess. Even when I have a pseudo I just… I just want to jerk off. I don’t want to… You know…” Nicholas twisted his hands in a strange configuration that had everybody squinting in confusion.

“Mate, I don’t know what you think goes where but it’s not that.” Alex giggled. He sat up, pulling his shirt back into place, and took the controller from George, selecting Reinhardt on the character screen.

Lando tried to watch the match but found himself lost in his thoughts. He’d never really understood how dynamics worked – how the sex worked. Sure, he understood the mechanics of fucking and he wasn’t completely immune to horniness but at the same time it baffled him that people were so casual about it, as if it were the weather. Maybe it was because he was a product of a monogamous relationship, which was an increasingly odd state of affairs these days, especially if you spent any degree of time apart for work or whatever reason, but then his parents were both betas, so it came a little easier to them, it seemed.

“You okay?” George asked, putting a hand on Lando’s knee and bringing him out of his head.

“Yeah… I just… I know it’s bad with Covid but I guess I never really thought about how horrible all the hormones are.”

Alex cheered as he pinned the other team’s Mercy to the wall. George hummed, thoughtful. “You forget what it was like without them.”

\--

Checo pulled Lando aside after qualifying. He seemed just like his regular self but still, Lando was hesitant. He kept glancing over his shoulder to check that someone else was within visual range, though he couldn’t say precisely why. He’d heard through paddock whispers that he was feeling just as fucked up over last weekend as Lando was.

“You were right Lando and I wish he hadn’t come.” Checo’s voice was softer than Lando had ever heard it, but then he’d never had a reputation for being an aggressive alpha. “I was out of my head. I can’t even remember it. He promised me that I didn’t…” He swallowed. “That I didn’t, you know… _force_ _him…_ But I… It doesn’t feel… I…”

Lando put a sympathetic hand on Checo’s shoulder. He hadn’t asked for any of this and it sounded like he’d had even less input than Kevin had. “It’s not your fault. You were just as much of a victim.”

Checo pinched Lando’s cheek. “You’re a good kid. I won’t let them do that to you when it happens, I promise. I’ll look out for you – and Kevin will too. We all will.”

“Honestly, I’m starting to think it won’t happen.” Lando swatted Checo’s hand away, smiling. “I have another check-up coming up soon and I don’t know what the Doctor’s going to say.” They had never really spoken much before, but Lando’s initial discomfort had melted away into nothing and he found himself wondering why they hadn’t.

“I was a late one too. Happened in testing before my rookie season. I’d just turned twenty-one.” He paused, looking wistfully into the distance like he was remembering it in vivid detail. “I’d thought I was broken too. That’s the secret though, everyone thinks like that, even if they’re early. We all think there’s something wrong with us.”

\--

Lando’s race hadn’t been great, but Charles’ had been abysmal. They both skipped the celebrations to order the greasiest thing on the menu – and dessert – figuring they both deserved a cheat day. They were hanging out in Charles’ room, which was much bigger and nicer than Lando’s – not that Lando was all that fussed about hotel rooms anyway. You could probably have run a yoga class in Charles’ though.

“There’s no way I am winning the championship this year. Not driving this go-kart.” Charles frowned as chocolate sauce dripped off his churro and onto his clean white t-shirt. He sighed, big and French and pantomime-y. “Nothing is going my way today.”

“Just wait for Lewis to retire, then you can Max can battle it out. He might go this year you know.” Lando chuckled, watching Charles lift the end of his shirt so he could get the chocolate drip into his mouth.

“I don’t think so. He’s taking the title so easy this year. He’ll go when he starts having to work for it again.” The stain looked even worse now. Charles grumbled at the fabric and pulled it up over his head, deciding to eat the rest of his churros without it. It had Lando cackling. Charles frowned pointedly at him. “Shut up! You have food all round your mouth like a baby.”

Lando wiped the side of his hand along his mouth. Now Charles was laughing at him. He caught sight of his reflection in Charles’ mirrored wardrobes. God, they both looked like toddlers working out how to get the food into their mouths properly. He wasn’t exactly sure what prompted the question.

“Do you think it would be easier if you were an alpha?”

Charles snorted. “It’s all nonsense. It’s like do you think it would be easier if you were taller? Or if you were fucking blonde? You don’t need a knot to drive.” He sucked sugar and cinnamon dust from the end of his fingers for a moment. “I mean maybe they’d take me more seriously. All the questions – when are you planning on having children? I had to work to make Seb understand I wasn’t just going to let him by. Deferring to alphas is bullshit. Absolute bullshit. You want to overtake me? Earn it. Be faster. I earnt it. I’m faster than him. Do you know what he said to me before my heat? He said I should take the race off – that I can’t race while I’m in my heat. I fucking showed him.”

The occasional Charles rant was part and parcel of being his friend, usually about the most inconsequential things, but this time Lando found himself wincing sympathetically. He’d always been aware of alpha privilege – they did sensitivity training these days – but he’d never thought it was this bad. “I’m glad it’ll be Carlos next year. Seb’s such a smug cunt sometimes.”

“Stole my teammate,” Lando mock-grumbled, sticking his tongue out childishly. “I don’t know about Dan. It feels like he always has to be the funny one, you know? All of them treat me like a kid sometimes but Dan… I don’t know. I think he thinks he’s better than me.”

“He’s threatened. And why wouldn’t he be? You’ve got your whole career ahead of you and he’s got maybe a handful more seasons and the front teams don’t want him anymore. It’s probably over.” Charles shrugged. Lando knew him well enough to understand that the callousness was defensive. “Don’t let him make you second driver.”

“I won’t.”

Charles flopped flat on his back on the floor, groaning. “I definitely ate too much.”

Lando flopped beside him, close enough their hair tangled together. “I thought that was the point?”

For a few minutes, they just lay there, eyes closed, basking in the glow of one another. Then Charles spoke again, his voice evened out and soft once more.

“Thank you for keeping it a secret.”

“Hmm? Oh… Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Honestly, Lando almost believed he had dreamt their kiss.

Charles reached for Lando’s hand and squeezed it. “I know I’m stupid sometimes but… I don’t regret it. Not really. I like being with you.”

Lando turned into Charles, pressing his face into the crook of Charles’ arm. “I know you can’t – that none of you can, not really but I’ve felt so lonely… George…” His voice cracked a little. “We’ve been kissing but I know no one’s comfortable going any further and… I just…” He could feel his eyes getting wet.

Suddenly Charles was kissing him and it was sugary and full, like the dessert they weren’t supposed to have. Their lips slipped away from each other, sticky, as they pressed their foreheads together. “Any day now. You’ll see.” Charles stroked Lando’s hair, getting crumbs in it. “I would kiss you again but oh my god I’m so full.”

That made Lando laugh so hard he almost threw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm polyamorous irl, so I'm making this AU a world with polynormativity and the expectation of very fluid romantic and sexual relationships. We cool?


	7. belgium, 2020

Both Charles and George were distant that week. Who could blame them? Everybody dealt with grief differently and both of them were the type to withdraw into themselves. Charles kept finding reasons to be alone and George seemed distracted, a glazed expression on his face whenever he and Lando talked. There was a sullen mood across the paddock that not even putting in a good lap time could lift.

Lando ate lunch alone, exchanging memes in the group chat with Aarav – their plans to launch Team Quadrant were coming along nicely. He was way too deep into some deep-fry nonsense when he heard the chair behind him scrape against the ground as someone sat down beside him.

“’Sup kiddo?” Daniel beamed across at him.

“Not much.” Lando immediately put his guard up. Despite the excitement of the fans about them being teammates next season, they weren’t particularly friendly. He gazed out across the track. At least the weather was alright.

“Didn’t expect you to be miserable too. Come on, you’re supposed to be fun.” He pressed his closed fist against Lando’s shoulder.

Lando looked at Daniel for a moment, then back at his phone. “It’s not exactly the mood, is it?” He looked up again and Daniel was still staring. “Aren’t you meant to be entertaining Netflix?”

“Nah, they’re off trying to get some misery porn. They’ve been stalking Charles.” Daniel sipped his drink, putting his feet up on the chair opposite. “Don’t worry I already told ‘em where they can stick it. They should have some fucking respect.”

It wasn’t often that anyone in the paddock got to see any facet of Daniel beyond that kilowatt smile he preferred to wear. Lando put his phone away, studying Daniel’s face intently. He looked older when he frowned. “Thanks.”

The smile came back as quickly as it had slipped. “Take a picture. Then you can wank over it later.” He winked, leaning out of the way of Lando’s hand as it went to smack him.

“You’re such a basic alpha knot-head.”

“Nothing basic here baby. Present as an omega and you’ll find out.” Dan kissed his own bicep, laughing all the more for seeing Lando flush red with embarrassment and pout. “Nah, I’m kidding. I’m not one of those omega-only douchebags. I mean Jemma was an alpha too.”

Lando’s expression softened. Long term alpha-alpha relationships were historically, and currently in some places, frowned upon. “You dated her for ages, right? Were you monogamous?”

Daniel shrugged his shoulders, a wistful look in his eye. “Yeah, since high school. We were primaries and nesting but not quite monogamous. Maybe we should’ve been. Maybe it would have worked out if we were but… Well life happens.”

“My parents are mono,” Lando offered, almost as an apology.

“Really? Huh. Wild.” Daniel twisted his mouth, thinking. “Something to admire. You gonna go the same way?”

Lando shook his head. “I’ve thought about it but I don’t know. I think I love too many people.”

Daniel chuckled. “I guessed. You always smell so mushy.”

That gave Lando pause. He sniffed the crook of his elbow, confused. “I have a smell?”

“Oh yeah. Everyone has a smell. It changes a bit after you pop, but like just in a sexier way, if that makes sense? Things don’t just _not_ have a smell dummy.”

Lando supposed he hadn’t thought about it before, but what Daniel was saying made sense. He’d just thought… Well, all those poems and songs about how people smelt were about lovers. “… Is it bad?”

His question made Daniel laugh, but not his usual overbearing guffaw. It was quieter, more genuine somehow. “Yeah you reek of Lynx Africa mate.” Daniel wiped a hand over his face, his eyes watering. “No. It’s sort of like plums.”

Lando wasn’t sure what he was expecting but that surprised him somehow. “I have no idea how anyone smells really. I mean…” He leant over and sniffed Daniel in pantomime style. “Sweat and motor oil?”

Daniel laughed again. Even though his chest heaved, Lando knew it wasn’t a performance. “Might as well be, for all I know. Jemma used to say I smell like the ocean… I’m not sure how true that is. No one can smell themselves.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm before they had to get back in their cars. Lando wasn’t quite sure why he said it, but it felt like a peace offering. “Well, when I pop I’ll tell you.”

Daniel smiled.

\--

“George? George?” Now that the race was over, Lando had seen the playback of the incident. They were both okay, but George had to be shook up. Especially with it being a year since… Since Anthoine. He’d already been as far into the Williams garage as the mechanics would allow him, but no luck. They’d pointed him to the motorhome instead.

The Williams motorhome wasn’t much compared to McLaren’s – and if he thought about it, Lando didn’t really think the McLaren motorhome was particularly great. Without all the guests and schmoozing it felt much larger than it really was. There was nobody here now, the rest of the team either in the garage or having returned to the hotel.

Lando had been in the driver’s rooms before. Room was generous, it was more of a cupboard. As he made his way up the stairs, he could hear music. K-Pop, it sounded like, which George would probably never admit to enjoying in an interview. He wrapped his knuckles against George’s door, but George evidently couldn’t hear him.

Lando frowned and opened the door. That turned out to be a mistake.

Antonio had George bent in half on the sofa, George’s knees up by his ears. Honestly, Lando hadn’t realised that George was even that flexible. From where he stood, he could see Antonio’s hair sticking to his naked back with sweat and George’s toes curled tight. The entire room seemed to shake with Antonio’s thrusts, a clothes rail rattling in dismay as if it would fall apart any moment.

The song faded into silence as it ended and Lando’s ears filled with the sound of their fucking. Antonio’s groans and growls had a strangely musical quality to them, interrupted by the suction noise of their kissing. George squeaked like Lando had never heard him before, strangely feminine. They didn’t seem to notice that Lando was there at all, too engrossed in it.

Lando panicked and shut the door. They probably heard that, but then the next song was starting up and Lando could still feel the tremors through the door like an earthquake. They had no intention of stopping if they’d truly realised anyone was there. Lando fled down the stairs and back out into the paddock, a strange lump in his throat.

\--

He found himself knocking on Carlos’ door. He was surprised by how quickly Carlos opened it, especially after his shitty non-start. Even so, Lando was pulled into Carlos’ arms before he’d managed to step over the threshold and waltzed across the room in a big whirling hug as the door closed.

“Have you forgiven me? Please say you’ve forgiven me. I can’t stand it.” Carlos’ eyes were big with hope and trepidation. It made Lando’s heart sink into his stomach like he’d done something terrible.

Lando swallowed. He couldn’t speak. He nodded, pressing his face into Carlos’ shoulder. His voice came out a stilted, hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry-”

“No, it was my fault. I deserved it. I was an asshole.” He pressed his lips against Lando’s temple, mussing Lando’s hair with his fingers.

Something in Lando burst. He sobbed into Carlos’ chest, his hands fisted in his shirt.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Lando was hiccoughing, big, enormous ugly tears streaking down his face. The worst part was he didn’t understand why, not that he could have articulated it if he did. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, bundled up in Carlos’ embrace, before it subsided enough that he could speak again.

“I… I don’t know. I missed you.” The feeling of Carlos’ hands smoothing over the crown of his head felt so safe, so comfortable and warm.

“I missed you too.” Carlos let go of Lando so he could press his thumb to Lando’s face and wipe the remaining moisture away.

\--

Hours later, they were curled up watching Riverdale together in their shirts and underwear because it was silly and awful and wonderful, Carlos the big spoon to Lando’s little. Lando shifted a little, his arm having gone to sleep. His butt connected with Carlos’ crotch and Carlos sprang away from him suddenly, almost kicking the laptop off the bed.

“Carlos what the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I-”

They spoke over the top of one another, Lando looking over his shoulder quizzically only to see Carlos staring back at him, his red flush purple in the blue glow of the screen. Lando blinked a few times in confusion before he twigged. Carlos was hard.

“I’ll go,” Carlos mumbled, pulling at the sheets to get out of the bed.

“Carlos, we’re in your room,” Lando half-laughed.

“Oh.” He clutched at the sheets, wide-eyed and unsure. Lando hadn’t seen Carlos so panicked before. It was impulsive and stupid, but Lando threw a leg over Carlos to sit on his lap, then leant forward and kissed him. Carlos didn’t move, stunned. Lando smoothed a hand over Carlos’ chest, feeling his pulse racing beneath the fabric of his shirt. Then Carlos twisted, turning his mouth just enough to the side to speak. “Lando, we can’t. What if-?”

Lando shushed him with another kiss, locking his hands together around Carlos’ neck, grinding down on Carlos’ thighs. “Just this? Please, Carlos.” He breathed his question into Carlos’ mouth. Slowly, he felt Carlos’ hand grasp the back of his shirt and then Carlos’ lips were sliding apart and letting him in.

“Just this,” Carlos’ voice cracked, his resolve broken. “Okay, just this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay folks, they've stopped fighting!


	8. italy, 2020

“We can’t,” Lando gasped, his fingers sliding against the sink as he tried to hang on. His racing overalls were down around his ankles, the mirror in front of him full of his own face, his eyes wide with shock. He could see himself now, some baby-faced cherubim, his pink lips parted in a perfect O, the flash of his wet tongue over his teeth.

He wasn’t sure if it was a shush or a hiss, but he could feel the nomex of his underwear splitting as it was pulled away from itself, exposing his arse. A hand came up and pushed his back down as teeth bit into one of his exposed cheeks hard enough to draw blood. It made Lando’s cock throb, pressed up against the cold porcelain. “Please,” he begged, gazing into the dark void of the drain. “Valtteri, please.”

Sex dreams were never about who you thought they were going to be about. Lando woke to Carlos’ hand stroking softly over his bare back, his lips nuzzling softly against Lando’s ear. “Good dream? Sorry to wake you, but you’re gonna be late.”

\--

Lando swung his legs idly, watching the doctor studying his computer monitor. This was routine by now, between the drug testing and the health monitoring, but the main purpose of this particular appointment was to track his hormones. Lando had to say that he didn’t feel any different to usual. The weirdest part of this was definitely having the Netflix cameraman here. Clearly they wanted to build a narrative around this, you know, if he popped this season. The footage would probably end up on the cutting room floor if he didn’t.

“It all looks perfectly normal to me,” the doctor eventually declared. “Your levels look about where we would expect an unpresented adolescent in your state of physical fitness to be.”

So same-old same-old. Lando had given up feeling nervous before these appointments and the cameraman seemed disappointed with his reaction, even if it was mostly obscured by a mask anyway.

“You’re not disappointed?”

“No.” Lando wasn’t particularly interested in talking about it for the cameras, but he could see his PR manager folding his arms across the room. “I mean, I’m in perfect health and fit for racing. What more could I want?”

“Well, this is about the age that most unpresented individuals start thinking about medical intervention-”

Lando choked involuntarily. “I’m 20.” He tipped his head slightly sideways, like a dog that hadn’t understood the command. It definitely felt like he was being asked to perform. The camera stared back at him, unfaltering. He sighed. “Besides, the hormone therapy I would be able to get is banned by the FIA.”

“Would you take a season out to have it?”

“I… What…?” Lando winced. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered it. He’d spent enough time in his own head to have considered pretty much everything to do with the subject, but this was the first time anyone had said anything like this to his face. “No. I love racing.”

“You love racing more than…?” The cameraman had the good grace to realise what he was asking before he finished the sentence at least.

“I love racing more than anything,” Lando snapped back, flashing the small spike of his canine ineffectually.

“You might race until you’re thirty-five or older. Are you sure you wouldn’t want to…?”

“No.” In reality he wasn’t quite so certain, but it rose from his throat unbidden. “Absolutely not.”

\--

The McLarens really flew that weekend, but Lando still couldn’t quite match that first race. He tries not to feel disappointed that he didn’t make the podium, it was so close he could taste the- Well, he could taste the milk, warm in the Italian sun. Licking the champagne from Carlos’ clavicle as he peeled his race suit off in the motorhome almost made up for it. Carlos’ voice was caught somewhere between a laugh and a hiss as he begged Lando not to let them get caught here.

No one skipped out on the party. How could they? The sheer joy radiating from Pierre drowned even Max and Valtteri’s understandably stormy moods. Lewis hosted – in Pierre’s pokey room they would have had to sit in each other’s laps. Not that all the extra space stopped Daniel drunkenly offering Max a lap dance. Max flushed an interesting shade of pink, almost falling backwards off his chair as he leant away.

“Aight mate, your loss. How about you champ?” Dan winked and straddled Pierre, wrapping his arms around Pierre’s neck as Charles located the filthiest song on Lewis’ playlist.

Seb wolf whistled. “Ricciardo, you slut.”

“Nice of you to get off Kimi’s knot long enough to notice,” Dan cackled. “Shut up and let me get my sexy on.”

It was a bit much for Lando who wandered out onto the balcony for a moment of air. He passed Esteban going in the other direction, his cap pulled low. Lance was leaning on the railing, a mostly empty glass dangling from his hand as he looked out at the sunset. Lando knew that Lance wasn’t the most sociable, but he’d spent a long while out here with Esteban.

“Hey man, congrats.” Lando gripped Lance’s arm for a moment, leaning next to him. “It’s a nice evening.”

Lance looked up, an expression Lando didn’t quite understand on his face – almost startled. “Sorry you missed out.”

“Fourth is pretty great.” Lando shrugged. “Thought you’d be happier.” Lance knocked back the end of his champagne, looking around for a refill. Finding none, Lando offered him his own glass. “Take it. I don’t really like it anyway.”

“Thanks.” Lance paused, halfway to a frown. “Do you think I deserve it?”

“Are you kidding? You drove so fucking well. You earned it.”

“Not everybody thinks so.”

Lando’s gaze flitted back through the double doors towards Esteban who was watching Dan’s antics somewhat awkwardly. Esteban didn’t have many friends in the paddock – he preferred to keep things business. Well, except maybe with Lance. “You fighting?”

“When are we not?” Lance rolled his eyes, batting a hand dismissively towards the party. “I don’t know why I care. I’m just a talentless pay driver to the rest of you, right?”

Lando leant over and squeezed Lance in a one-armed hug. “A talentless pay driver with trophies and a boyfriend who doesn’t always appreciate him as much as he should. I mean it’s probably just the champagne talking. He’ll come round, right?”

“I don’t think we’re going to work out.” Lance shook his head as if he’d already made peace with it. “Shame. The sex is pretty damn good.”

\--

Carlos was too drunk to wait until they made it back to either of their rooms. He backed Lando up against the wall and kissed him, sloppy and uncoordinated and full of laughter. “Landooooooooo, Lando I think I love you.”

“I love you too man,” Lando chuckled, letting Carlos lean on him to walk.

“Noooooo. I mean I love you. Dammit. The words. _Te amo._ ” It was a struggle to get Carlos in through the door of his room. He was far too intent on touching, like even a hair’s breadth of space between them was too much. “Stay with me? Stay?”

Lando knew Carlos would pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow. He got him undressed and into the sheets, smoothed a cowlick into his hair and kissed his forehead softly. “Goodnight Carlos. I’ll see you in the morning… Or the afternoon…”

He moved to the door and flicked the light off. The glow of the hallway illuminated his face as Carlos called after him. “Lando, _pienso en ti siempre._ You hurt me in my heart.” Lando smiled and closed the door.

Kimi was watching from a few paces down the hall. “Idiot can’t hold his drink,” he mumbled, but there was a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth again. He studied Lando’s face intently. “Are you fucking?” Straight to the point, as always.

Lando felt himself blush. “I… No.”

“Not yet,” Kimi hummed. He took a swig from a Heineken. Kimi’s liver must have been the envy of medical science. “Soon, though.” It wasn't a question. A lump rose in Lando's throat.

“Please don’t-”

Kimi shrugs his shoulders dismissively. “I lost it at fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” There was no way Kimi had presented that early. Lando arched an eyebrow in alarm.

“Teacher.” Kimi shrugged again, taking another gulp.

“I… Do you want to… Do you want to talk about it?” Lando’s mouth gaped like a fish. Kimi’s expression remained unreadable behind his glasses.

“No.” Kimi disappeared into his room and Lando heard the lock click behind him.


	9. tuscany, 2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! There's some noncon in this chapter, but it is a dream sequence. Look after yourself and skip this bit if you need to.

Lando had never seen so many drivers outside the stewards’ office. The whole grid might as well have – no, he scratched that. He was fairly confident the entire grid was present, even if Lewis only seemed to be here because he enjoyed the drama. He personally hated having to do this. On the small handful of occasions it had happened, he’d felt like a naughty school boy standing in the corridor, waiting for the headmaster – small and stupid and chastised. He hid his face in Carlos’ race suit, trying to disappear inside himself.

“It’s not like _you_ did anything wrong,” Carlos snorted, almost amused by how farcical this was.

“It’s not like _we_ did anything wrong,” Romain grumbled petulantly, a steward’s office regular. He glared pointedly at Valtteri who sat in white knuckle silence, his fists dangling between his thighs spread wide across his seat. Even if Lando couldn’t smell what was going on, he could read the room. “Oh? Are you going to rut right here? Show us all how big your knot is? Your posturing is pathetic.” Romain could be cruel when he wanted to be.

“Romain.” Kevin cocked an eyebrow, a hand on Romain’s shoulder, a warning in his voice.

“No, honestly it is. You think because you’re in a Mercedes you’re the only one racing? Fuck you. Entitled alpha asshole.”

A low growl rumbled through the room. Carlos put a protective hand across Lando. This was another reason that Lando dreaded being sent to the stewards’ office. He hated seeing everyone like this, all sportsmanship forgotten about, brought down to their very worst. Valtteri cracked his knuckles. “Maybe that’s why you’re backmarkers. Not an alpha between you.”

Until that moment, George had been minding his own business, chatting idly to Nicholas in an attempt to lighten the mood. He looked up, wide-eyed and wounded for a moment before his expression soured. “Val,” George’s voice sunk deep in his throat. “Don’t make me make a formal complaint.”

Loic Bacquelaine coughed into his fist, holding the door open. “If you’re quite finished, we’d like to speak to Mr. Bottas.”

\--

“A warning? For all of us? This is garbage.” Antonio grumbled, stabbing at his salad dejectedly.

“You’re telling me? That’s almost every non-alpha on the grid covered. I call bullshit.” Esteban rolled his eyes so hard Lando thought he must have strained something. He was sitting next to Lance again, Lando noted.

“It’s what happens when they’re all alphas. They tell whoever isn’t at the front to get fucked. If you’re winning then you’re right obviously.” Alex gave Esteban a run for his money on the eye-rolling. “They only let Romain off so he wouldn’t go off on one in an interview. Again.”

“At least he’d be right this time.” Daniil pushed a straw around in his glass of water. “That’s the problem. He goes off so much they can’t tell when there’s a genuine problem.”

“What? Like this isn’t normal for you?” Carlos teased, getting a punch in the arm for his trouble. He pouted cartoonishly. “Is Valtteri really in rut? I can never tell with him.”

“It’s the Finnish way,” Daniel laughed. He’d been oddly quiet. Lando supposed this was a strange crowd to see him with, but he was technically a midfielder these days.

“Pff. You know Kimi’s is coming a week in advance,” Antonio piped up unexpectedly. Everyone turned to look at him and he shrank back into his seat somewhat, chewing nervously on a rocket leaf. “Well, you do…” He trailed off. Lando guessed based on the expressions that not everyone else’s experience was the same.

Daniel never let the opportunity to collect gossip escape him. “You getting on that?”

“You jealous?” Kevin grinned. Something in the way Kevin looked at Daniel made Lando scared to look at what was going on under the table. “You do love a good knot Ricciardo.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you.” Daniel wiped his mouth on a napkin. “And second of all, you telling me you couldn’t go for it right now?”

Kevin leant back on his chair, sighing as he considered the proposition. “I could blow off some steam.” There was a murmur of agreement around the table. Kevin pushed himself up from the table. “Get the bill Dan. You’re hosting.”

There were many tales about this kind of thing happening, but Lando had never had it happen around him. Esteban gripped Lance’s hand across the table, then both of them followed suit. Almost everyone seemed to be as Daniel sighed and asked for the bill.

Lando looked across at Carlos. “Don’t worry about me.”

Carlos pressed a kiss against Lando’s hands wrapped tight in his own. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“I was gonna play Call of Duty with the squad tonight anyway.” Lando shook his head.

“Don’t worry I got yours too kid.” Daniel winked across at Lando, pulling Carlos up out of his seat. He slapped Carlos’ ass playfully. “I’ll make sure he comes back in one piece.”

For a few moments, Lando thought he was alone at the table. He pinged the group chat to let them know he was available earlier than expected. As he looked up, he caught Dani’s gaze, which was boring into him like a drill. “Are you not going with them?”

“Not my scene.”

Lando had heard rumours that Dani was the monogamous type, but that confirmed it. As Lando rose from the table to go, Dani grabbed his arm, his grip tight. Lando stared back at him, laughing nervously. “What’s up man?”

“You know Alguersuari’s not in racing anymore?” Daniil’s gaze made Lando nervous. “Shame, that. I heard he had this unpresented boyfriend back when he raced for Toro Rosso. I mean they were the same age but then… It’s still not right is it? Can’t have someone like that on the grid.” It made Lando’s breathing speed up. Dani wasn’t threatening him. He was warning him. Slowly Dani released his grip. “You’re a good boy though. Wouldn’t get caught up in something like that.”

Lando dashed back to his room. He flung the door closed behind himself and flopped down on the bed. _In for seven, hold for four, out for five._ All the techniques he’d been taught didn’t help. He was having a panic attack.

\--

In his dream, Lando’s hands were tied behind his back. He was in a hotel room – his room – the clinical white sheets beneath him, naked and vulnerable. The air conditioning was turned up too high and his skin pimpled with goosebumps, his dusting of light body hair standing on end. “Carlos?”

Someone hauled him back by his legs, their grip painful on his calves, the fabric burning against the skin of his chest. There was laughter. Someone moved in the corner of his vision. He flailed but couldn’t find the balance to push himself upright, his bare ass hanging over the bed. “Who’s there?”

“All of us,” someone chuckled. Lando could feel their breath on the back of his neck, their finger stroking down his spine, their palm cupping his ass cheek in mock tenderness. Voices layered on top of each other. Lando squirmed. “Count.” He recognised the accent now. Seb.

There was a sound like a thunderclap before a sudden flash of pain lit up his skin. Lando howled, trying desperately to crawl away but someone had hold of his hair, yanking him backwards. Then it happened again, on the right side this time.

“Please-” Lando sniffled, his face already a mess of snot and tears. “Where is he?”

“COUNT.” The blows kept raining down and Lando kicked his legs, hysterical.

There was laughter behind him. He recognised Dan’s distinctive cackle. His cock wept into the cotton, disgusting as the rest of him. “He’s a kinky little fucker isn’t he? Look at that.” Someone murmured in agreement and Lando felt himself crack open like an egg.

“O-one,” it came out weak and shaky, all the fight compressed out of his lungs.

The hand stroked across his arse, reaching down for a moment to fondle his balls. “Good boy.” Then it came down again and again and again, the numbers a garbled tangle in Lando’s throat.

He woke in a cold sweat, alone in the dark in his bed. The clock blinked red at him. He reached for his phone and tapped out a message, hitting send before he could change his mind.

_I’m sorry Carlos. I can’t do this._


	10. russia, 2020

Lando hadn’t been looking forward to Russia. It was the first of the races where he was legally required to have a chaperone. He and Carlos had been allocated a family room in the hotel, a connecting bathroom with two doors between them, which Lando couldn’t even lock. What garbage. There was also a rota for who had to babysit him – some of them even preferred it because it got them out of press conferences.

He couldn’t concentrate. Maybe it was just all those pent-up feelings between him and Carlos, but Lando found himself zoning out while people were talking to him. He barely noticed his feet taking him from one place to the next – found himself wandering into the wrong rooms and wondering why he had come here like an unattended Sim. He needed space to be alone but that just wasn’t allowed, so he settled for turning off his phone for some semblance of control. All he achieved was freaking out the group chat.

Perhaps it was just an adolescent mood. He hadn’t felt this way since… Well since George and Alex had both presented. Sleeping was difficult knowing that Carlos was only feet away, alone in his identically uncomfortable hotel bed. Everyone had noticed Lando wasn’t very present. They’d tested him a few extra times to make sure it wasn’t the dreaded plague.

At four in the morning on Saturday, he found himself scrolling through information on hormone therapy. He’d seen it before, vaguely, in a health class at school – but the process seemed horrifying and if the treatment didn’t take right, he could end up on medication for the rest of his life to avoid catastrophic organ failure. That would be the end of his driving career.

At five he wandered out onto his balcony to watch the sunrise, letting his legs dangle between the iron railings. Russia wasn’t exactly warm, but Lando needed to feel something, even if it was just the chill on his bare feet. A few minutes later, he heard his neighbour’s door slide open. Sebastian waved and sat out on his own balcony.

“I never thought of you as an early riser.”

“I’m not.” Lando sighed. Even the morning light felt grey and cold. “Didn’t really sleep.”

“That’s not good for you, you know. You need your rest. Can’t stay up all night playing videogames.” Seb tried to joke but it fell flat against Lando’s silence. For a few minutes neither of them said anything. Then Lando looked back at Seb and found him equally as distant, distracted.

“Are you okay Seb?”

“I should be the one asking you that.” Seb paused to take a sip of his coffee. It smelt wonderful and rich, even from a few feet away, but Seb didn’t seem to be enjoying it. He looked back at Lando, his gaze suddenly piercing. “Do you think I’m past it?”

“You’re four-time World Champ.” Lando scrambled for a response.

“But do you think I’m past it?” There was nowhere to hide from Seb’s question.

Lando didn’t know how to answer it. “Do you?”

Seb looked down into his cup like he was trying to read the future in it. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve missed my chance to go out on a high. But you never want to quit while you’re ahead, do you? Well, unless you’re Nico Rosberg.” He turned to look behind him as vague Finnish cursing drifted out of the room behind him. “Morning Kimi. Coffee’s ready.”

\--

The paddock felt overwhelming. Even closed to the public, practically empty by comparison, there was too much going on for Lando to process on as little sleep as he’d had. Antonio’s cologne was giving him a headache, something strange and musky, almost vanilla but not quite. Trying to place it made the throbbing in his skull even worse, so he pulled his mask tighter about his face and internally begged for the sweet release of death. Why was he even wearing it? It wasn’t like they weren’t all going to stink of sweat by the time the day was over anyway.

Antonio was trying to show him another meme he’d already seen. Lando couldn’t help it. He snapped. “Will you get your fucking phone out of my face?” His voice came out louder than he’d meant it to. Antonio pulled his arm back as if his puppy had bitten him unexpectedly, full of disappointment and just a hint of fear.

“Lando…?”

“This is so fucking stupid! I’m twenty! I don’t need a goddamn babysitter!” He kicked a foot against the coffee table and once again overestimated the effort, tipping the whole thing over and spilling glossy magazines all over the floor. Carlos’ face gazed up at him out of the heap of papers.

Antonio remained as soft spoken as ever, putting a hand on Lando’s arm, a gentle pressure. “Lando, you know we have to-”

“Why don’t you go stick your dick in George and leave me alone? I’m just a waste of time anyway. Little kid can’t do anything for anyone.”

“I… Is this about Carlos…?” Antonio’s eyes were full of concern as he swept his hair back into a messy knot. He set the table right and began picking up the papers. If Lando didn’t know better, he would have thought Antonio was a beta. It was such a beta thing to do. “You know you can talk to me about it.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t talk to anyone about it.” When had Lando started crying? He was hyperventilating again. “Nobody gets it. I’m just this mistake, this freak of nature. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t exist. I-”

Antonio hugged him. The smell made Lando’s entire body throb. Lando buried his face in the crook of Antonio’s neck and tried to remember how to breathe between the hiccoughs. It was a babyish thing to do. Small children scented like this and then they grew out of it. Lando had never felt so small and stupid and pathetic but this was soothing. He clutched at the back of Antonio’s shirt.

They sat like that several long minutes while Lando’s breathing evened out and the pounding inside him subsided.

\--

He wanted to disappear. Fifteenth. Fif-fucking-teenth. This was worse than Hungary and with Carlos crashed out, the team hadn’t picked up a single solitary point. A Haas had outdriven him, what an utter embarrassment. If the team hadn’t already confirmed his contract for next year, Lando would have been worried.

To make matters worse, he’d seen Carlos slinking off with Daniel after the debrief.

Lando was flushed and warm again, the heat rising in his face whenever he spoke and everything was too loud, too bright, smelt strong enough to make him want to vomit. His brain was overloading. Getting back to the hotel and lying face down with the light off was the only relief, the pillow over his head to muffle the sound of the occasional passerby in the corridor.

Even the fabric of his clothes against his skin was driving him insane. His whole body screamed out _wrong wrong wrong_. Fuck he had Covid. He must have Covid, right? There was no way lack of sleep and a bit of dehydration could wreck him like this. The rest of the team were already concerned about it and he’d taken a test. He’d know tomorrow if he did.

He reached into the bedside drawer for some painkillers and swilled them down with an entire bottle of water. God, what the fuck was happening to him? He just needed to sleep it off.

Lando closed his eyes. He didn’t dream.

\--

When he woke the room was still dark. He’d turned the clock face down so the blinking red numbers weren’t visible. He had no idea what time it was or even, for a moment or two, where he was. “Carlos?” His hair was plastered to his face with sweat. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants to cover himself and even that felt like climbing inside an oven.

Lando had no idea what compelled him to do it but he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The throbbing was back, like his entire body was moving to the beat of a song he didn’t know. Scents swirled in the air around him like an explosion in a perfume factory. The lights buzzed noisy, artificially white. He stumbled forward. He could hear music. He needed someone, anyone.

The closer he got, the worse it felt. By the time he was outside room 701 he was practically bent double from the exertion of just existing in the middle of all these sensations. He flopped against the wall, struggling to hold himself upright and closed his eyes. The music stopped. Lando wanted to throw up. Someone opened the door. The sudden silence hurt almost more than all the sound.

“Lando?”

Something burst. He whimpered, a sticky wet rush between his legs.


	11. interlude

When Lando came to, he wasn’t sure where he was. He was lying flat on his back on another soulless hotel bed, a cold flannel folded neatly over his forehead. The room was lit only by a bedside lamp and he could hear the vague rhythms of talking outside, distant, as if they were underwater. For a moment he felt chilly, then his body seemed to remember it was burning up with a vengeance. He arched away from the sheets but his own stickiness tried to keep him in place. It felt like lying in a puddle.

He manoeuvred himself upright, fighting with the bed to do it and limped over to the door. It took a couple of tugs to get it open, Lando whimpering like a puppy shut out of the kitchen all the while. He needed something he couldn’t articulate.

“Lando? You’re awake?” Charles’ familiar tones greeted him.

Lando closed his eyes and pushed himself close against Charles. He needed someone to hold him. He needed- Oh God he needed- A high-pitched whine escaped him as he pressed his face into the crook of Charles’ neck. He smelt rich and decadent, like dark cherries and chocolate. “What’s happening to me?” He sobbed.

“It’s your time.” Charles’ voice was hushed against his ear, his lips grazing the skin. Lando felt another shameful gush inside his sweatpants. “Shhhh- We’re here. We’ve got you.”

Kevin lifted Lando bridal-style, effortless, and carried him back to bed. He sat against the headboard, letting Lando lie back against his thighs. Lando was trembling. Oh God, this was embarrassing, letting anyone see him like this, but Kevin’s thumb sweeping across his forehead was soothing balm. He pressed his nose against Kevin’s wrist, sobbing into the skin. He smelt warm and safe, like rising bread.

Charles peeled Lando’s soaked sweatpants away from him, laughing softly at the mess of slick. Lando flushed again, his already pink chest glistening with sweat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. But it’s true what they say about late bloomers.” Charles pressed his tongue against the inside of Lando’s knee, pausing for a moment. “Is this okay?”

Lando jerked, his nerve endings alight. “Please, yes. Touch me. I need-” He whimpered again as Charles ran his tongue up the inside of his thigh, collecting the excess damp.

“Look at you,” Charles groaned, coaxing Lando onto his stomach. He dipped back down, his open mouth nipping gently against Lando’s skin.

Kevin carded his hands through Lando’s hair, tugging gently. Lando couldn’t help himself. He mouthed at the crotch of Kevin’s genes, desperate to taste. He could feel Kevin’s hardness and oh fuck, he wanted- he wanted- He howled as Charles parted his ass cheeks and pressed his tongue against the source, lapping greedily.

He lasted only moments, his cock twitching as he blew his load into the bedsheets. Charles kept going, his tongue trailing down to lick at Lando’s tip, cleaning up the mess he’d created. Lando’s eyes rolled up in his head, his entire body trembling. “Ahh-ahhh-” Kevin lifted his chin up, grounding him with a kiss. In what felt like seconds, Lando was hard again. He sobbed.

“Oh, Lando. You’re going to make us both have sympathy heats.” Charles’ finger pressed against his rim.

“Charles- Please-” He arched his back, his muscles alight with desire. Charles was stroking his insides, coaxing him open so easily. He could hear the wet slide of it and it wasn’t enough. “I need-”

“Who do you want?” Kevin finally spoke, his fingers pinching at Lando’s scent gland, tugging rough. His eyes were dark, clouded over. “You need a knot.”

Charles pressed against something inside him and he came again, shrieking. “Carlos Carlos Carlos, please.”

\--

He heard the door open and close as he came around the second time. Kevin had gone, but Charles was still there, his thumbs digging into the arch of Lando’s foot, trying in vain to relax Lando’s tense muscles. Charles’ scent had intensified, filling the room with an overwhelming fog of _omega._ Lando tried to push himself up. He’d never – was that – oh God. Charles stroked a hand along his back.

“Shush, he’s here now.”

And then Carlos was nuzzling the back of his neck. He smelt like spice – like the warmth of cinnamon. He pressed his tongue against Lando’s scent gland. “Qué lindo.” He held Lando’s flesh between his teeth. “You want me?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m sorry. Carlos-” Carlos’ teeth breached the skin. Lando jerked, his skull almost connecting with Carlos’.

Carlos laughed. “Ayy. Careful.” His hands gripped Lando’s hips, first gentle, then firmer. Lando could feel his heart throbbing in his chest. He was leaking again, an ocean of it, onto his thighs, the sheets, and Carlos’ fingers were gliding through it. “Charles, I think Kevin needs you.” Lando didn’t look up, but he heard Charles scurry away, the door going again.

He keened at Carlos’ careful touch. “Please please please. Need you. Please. More.”

“Let me look at you.” Lando didn’t need telling twice. He turned, only the briefest of thoughts for how he must look, slippery-wet and desperate, his cock hard and drizzling his stomach in precum. He reached a hand down to squeeze himself. It was almost painful. Carlos’ voice was a deep, throaty growl. “Beautiful omega.”

Then Carlos was kissing him and Lando was crying. He couldn’t control it, all of these sudden intense feelings pouring out of him thicker and faster than slick. Carlos tore his own shirt over his head, his fingers pressing into Lando urgently. His mouth moved downwards to tug briefly at a nipple as he struggled out of his trousers. “Carlos please. I- I- Please.”

“Gonna knot you so good.”

Already stretched and desperate for it, there wasn’t any ceremony to the first thrust. Lando squeaked out a shaky, hiccoughing breath, his fingers scrabbling at Carlos’ shoulders, sliding in his own sweat. It was odd, for a moment, a little burn to the penetration, then it gave way to overwhelming fullness. How could he have lived without it before?

Carlos was kissing him again and Lando could hardly move, already boneless with want and need and full and oh god yes. He wrapped his arms around Carlos’ neck but they stayed there only for a moment before Carlos, just as pent up as Lando, had him bent in half, his ankles locked together over Carlos’ back.

“Fuck. Lando. Hnyah-” Carlos breathed in his ear. Neither of them were going to last long. The knot in Lando’s stomach was already pulling tighter and tighter in time with Carlos’ thrusts, even when he thought it couldn’t go any more, then it all gave at once and Lando spilled over himself with a moan louder than he’d ever thought he could manage.

He could feel Carlos speeding up, his rhythm suddenly changing, staccato and wild, thrust getting shallower as the knot swelled. Then Carlos was groaning into Lando’s neck and cumming inside him and it felt like a fever breaking, like a sudden ocean of calm.

For a few minutes they lay in silence, basking in the glow of one another, then Carlos was peppering soft little kisses across Lando’s nose. “You okay down there?”

“I… Uh… Yes. I think so.” Lando nodded, his damp hair brushing across Carlos’ equally damp shoulders. He could feel the knot pulsing inside him, warm spurts coming at brief intervals. He let his legs drop and keened as the knot tugged against him, still thick and swollen. “How long does it…?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s strange. Ten minutes, ish, normally.” Carlos nosed at Lando’s neck, breathing deep. “Mhmm, you smell so good. I could eat you.”

Lando felt his cock stir between them, rubbing between their stomachs. He whined. “I just came…” Carlos thrust his hips a little, teasing playfully.

“Heats are like that. Here, have some Gatorade. You need electrolytes.”

\--

Carlos managed four rounds back-to-back before he had to admit defeat. Lando wrapped his arms around Carlos’ waist, possessive and needy.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease need you Carlos need it please-”

“Lando my knot is going to fall off.” Carlos poured energy drink into his own mouth, aching and dripping sweat. His back was covered in scratches from Lando’s fingernails and his neck purple with hickeys.

“Carloooosssss I need it. I need, fuck-” Lando rubbed himself against Carlos’ back, mouthing against his scent gland. Carlos even smelt tired.

He turned and pressed a kiss to Lando’s temple, chuckling. “It’s a good job there are more alphas here.” Then he tipped Lando’s chin so he could look into his eyes. “Is this okay? You don’t have to- If you want it to… You know…” He stumbled over the words.

Lando could smell them on the other side of the door. He could hear Charles and Kevin’s groans and the slam of furniture against walls. God, it was him doing this. His scent. His hormones in the air. And he needed it so badly- he needed-

“Yes, yes, yes, please, Carlos. Need-” He cut himself off with a long, pained whine.

“Okay, if you’re sure. I love you.” He kissed Lando’s lips ever so softly, then turned to the door. “Daniel I need some help in here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so plot twist, /I/ might have coronavirus. I feel like absolute ass, so apologies for any delays in coming chapters.


	12. eifel, 2020

In the middle of all of it, they somehow managed to get the drivers on a plane. Lando didn’t remember much of it – probably due to the tranquilisers they’d given him to calm him down. It wasn’t how he would have wanted to join the mile high club anyway. What he did remember was his head lolling against the car window between the airport and the hotel, then Carlos’ hand pressing between his skull and the glass, cushioning him against the knock-knock-knock of unconsciousness.

A fortnight between races was just enough, based on McLaren’s Scenario Fifteen projections (yes – Lando was embarrassed to learn that they’d had plans for every inevitability) but they still had Stoffel on speed dial. “Honestly Lando – focus on getting it out of your system. We’ll handle the rest,” Zak had assured him briefly over the phone. “Oh, and take your birth control!”

After the first forty-eight hours, it stopped being a strange blurry haze of bodies into bodies. There were moments of lucidity and still between insatiability, between need and want and touch me oh-God-please-touch-me and desperately trying to get enough liquid into himself to remain somewhat functional. There was time enough to catch up, almost, at least it felt like.

Max fucked like a house on fire, like his pelvis was made of stronger stuff than mere bone, like he had something to prove, but he kissed so soft, sweet nothings caught up in his teeth. In the afterglow, he clung to Lando like the remains of a shipwreck in tempestuous waters. Sebastian fucked like he’d already lost, slow and eager to apologise, frightened he’d break something. He woudn’t let Lando touch him in return. He didn’t stay.

Antonio stayed all night, put a playlist on and sucked Lando dry, fed him French toast in the morning and licked syrup from Lando’s nipples, seduced in that wily way of his. Kimi liked to watch, liked to direct, liked to have Lando ride him and work for his own pleasure. Lance brought Esteban, asked for permission, forever glancing over his shoulder. Pierre traced over every scratch and bruise, drowned Lando in scent, fucked him slow and teasing until Lando begged to cum.

Between it all, Alex and George coaxed him into the shower, offered him snacks and drinks, changed the bedding and bundled him up for sleep while Romain organised everyone else, a matron nurse. Carlos returned every spare moment for brief, tender bursts covered in kisses. Lewis and Valtteri had bigger concerns than the distraction of Lando’s heat with the championship still at stake and Sergio… Well, Lando kept waiting, but Checo never came.

He was with Daniel again when his heat finally broke. He rolled off Daniel’s limp knot, exhausted. “Nope. No. That’s it, I think,” he yawned into the bed covers, burrowing himself beneath the soft warmth.

Daniel took hold of his wrist, tugging gently. “Shower. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Come on.” He nudged Lando over the edge, letting him fall on his sore arse for all his protesting, before helping him back up on again. “Damn, you really went for the record there. Ten days – you were really storing it up. Even Rosberg never managed that.”

“Hmm?” Lando was too sleepy to process a great deal, letting Daniel manoeuvre him under the warm water. It stung for a moment, then felt heavenly, layers of sweat and fluid sloughing off him. Lando paused to collect himself, chuckling under the water. “Not broken. M’n’omega.”

“Nah, think you might be an alpha mate.” He heard Daniel cackle from somewhere behind him, then Daniel’s breath on the back of his knees.

“Wut’r’y- Oh…” He sighed, putting his palms against the wall for balance as Dan ate him out carefully, even this slight pressure overwhelming. His cock twitched but stayed soft, shying away from Daniel’s curious fingers.

“You’re really done for it, aren’t you?” Dan said, sitting back on his heels and licking his teeth. “Here, let me-” And then he was soaping Lando clean, rubbing his aching limbs and running his fingers through Lando’s hair. He’d done this before.

“You do smell like the seaside, you know?”

“I do? Nice to know for sure.”

Lando was asleep the moment Dan pulled the covers over them, nuzzling into his future team-mate’s chest.

\--

The paperwork was exhausting. Lando had never signed so many things in his life and he’d spent hours of his life at signing tables. He scowled at Carlos as another form rolled off the printer and onto the floor. He let it rest there a few moments before he could persuade himself to bend over and pick it up. God, his hips hated him.

“Do you want to be a homeowner or not?” Carlos teased.

“I am a homeowner,” Lando griped, savagely scribbling his name on the bottom of the page. He pouted cartoonishly, then let up the act. Carlos was right. It was better but it never should have been an issue and- He couldn’t stay on one line of thought. “Did you know homeowner’s got the word meow in it?”

“What? No. Where’s the u?” Carlos stared at Lando incredulous.

“Meow doesn’t… Wait… Does it…” Then Lando was googling how to spell meow, only to be interrupted by the tap of Zak’s knuckles against the open door.

“You feeling up to some press?”

“Oh God, as long as I don’t have to sign anything. Who is it?” Lando caught Carlos’ concerned face, his arms folded, tapping a pen against the edge of the coffee table.

“End Times. That Omega News publication. They were hoping to get the exclusive. Up to you, of course-” Zak paused, cutting himself off. “I mean, you can’t exactly hide it, and there will be talk about it regardless. But you should do this on your own terms. I get it if you’d rather not field questions about it.”

Lando furrowed his brow. He couldn’t think straight, too hopped up on caffeine and hormones. “I… I don’t know. Can you tell them to ask me again later? I mean. Like not in an hour, like in a week?” He chewed at his thumb nail.

“Yeah, sure thing. You do you.” Zak smiled, leaning on the doorframe. “And congratulations, in case no one told you.”

\--

Lando was almost glad to be out of the race. Almost. He wouldn’t be a racing driver if that word wasn’t there. His first race out as an omega and it was a DNF. He could picture the pundits this very moment, compiling it as evidence for their biases. _See, just not competitive_ , never mind that it was an electrical issue, nothing to do with him.

How did Charles not put his fist through something listening to them? He dodged the questions and made it back to the hotel as swiftly as he could, preferring to have a few minutes to himself for what felt like the first time in an eon. He’d had so many role models as a kid, so many drivers he admired and now all he could think about was Nico Rosberg, that perfect veneer on him, reflecting all those camera flashes back on the photographer.

It occurred to him embarrassingly late that he could go to the bar if he wanted. He shuffled downstairs at ten, waving off Carlos’ pleas for him to join Lewis’ celebrations. No, not tonight. He needed space. The bar itself was almost empty when he slid onto a barstool and ordered himself a beer.

“Beer? I thought you omegas liked your fancy shit.”

Lando rolled his eyes, already sick of being told how he should and shouldn’t act. “Your prejudice is showing Val.”

“Sorry. Just a joke. I just- Nico always-” He paused, watching Lando take a sip of his Heineken.

“I’m not Nico.” Lando tried to be serious but laughed, unable to maintain his frown longer than a few seconds. “I have no idea what I like to drink. This just seemed like a good place to start. Champagne would have been better, I guess…”

Valtteri chuckled at that, his gaze stormy over his own beer. He clinked glasses with Lando. “Well then. To losing.”

“To terrible beginnings,” Lando nodded in agreement, taking a long drink. Beer wasn’t as satisfying as it had been when it was technically illegal. He sized up the menu board, thoughtful. “So you and Rosberg, huh?”

“Hmmm?” Valtteri seemed to have zoned out for a moment. He came back to the room blinking at Lando, his mouth drawn tight, a façade of uncaring. “Well, for a little while. I always end up with Lewis’ cast-offs.”

They sat drinking in silence until their bottles were nearing empty. Lando considered Valtteri – on his good days he seemed to have plenty of friends and on days today, none at all.

“Do you want another?” Val asked, his eyes trailing over Lando’s collarbone, exposed a little under the open collar of his shirt.

Lando leant in close, letting his arm brush against Valtteri’s, tangling their fingers together. “I’m not Lewis’ cast-off.” He breathed against Valtteri’s ear, that peculiar woodsmoke scent of Valtteri’s flooding his senses. “Take me upstairs?”

Val cracked a smile, squeezing Lando’s palm beneath his own. “There’s vodka in my minibar. Want to find out if you like it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Test sent off, but I am feeling better than I was already. Food makes me want to cry though, I can't taste it.


	13. portugal, 2020

Sex is a curious thing. It didn’t take Lando long to come to that conclusion. When he wasn’t squirming, desperate for it like he might die, it had other meanings, other functions. He could read things in the scent he hadn’t understood before - like how bravado and fear went together in equal measure. It leaked out of the garages, covered the cars, hung between them in thick ropes, a cloying, unsettling aroma you could never seem to remove, burning rubber.

Desire smelt metallic, iron perhaps, or blood. Lando could feel some of the drivers leaning away from him now. Max seemed to slide out of reach, anxiety rolling off him in waves. Lewis had withdrawn the shelter of his wing. Lando tried to remind himself that this was what he had wanted so desperately, to be treated as an equal. For some people that meant treating him as a threat.

He sipped at his water as the interviewer spoke, an omega, like him. There was a feeling rippling outwards from her that he couldn’t quite explain. He knew it in his waters. Would that explanation have been good enough for him a few weeks ago? He doubted it. Why did knowing this change anything?

“Is there anything you want to say, to all those unpresented kids out there?” Lando didn’t have an answer to the question. He tapped his foot against the floor, trying to think. It wasn’t that he was different. It wasn’t that the world had fundamentally changed. On a morning like that one, he felt like more of a child than ever.

“I…” He paused. “It shouldn’t matter, but it does. It’s just a thing that happens or that doesn’t happen and it… It doesn’t change who you are, who you love, what you want, what you can do.”

Her writing slowed, her pen lolling across her notepad. “Is that definitely what you want to say? It’s a bit wishy-washy. It’s not very inspiring. Doesn’t tell them anything positive about being an omega.”

Lando raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Am I some sort of recruitment campaign to you? That isn’t how this works.”

She rested her cheek on her knuckles, her eyes narrowed. He could smell annoyance on her, frustration. “Omega rights are at the forefront of my concerns. Maybe it’s because you’ve presented so recently, but you don’t seem like you’re taking your own demographic’s social issues very seriously.”

He had no response to that. He bit his lip behind his mask. “Omega rights. Yeah. I-” He slumped in his chair, inadequacy creeping over him again like a white mist. “Omega rights are important. Look, I have a briefing to be it-” He scraped the chair across the floor, made his excuses and darted out of there as quickly as he could.

\--

Lando couldn’t get out of his head that weekend.

On Saturday night, he lay on his stomach in Carlos’ bed, grinding ineffectively against the mattress as Carlos fingered him open, his teeth nipping at Lando’s thighs teasingly. “Easy, easy, baby, don’t want you to cum just yet.” He squeezed at the base of Lando’s cock, Lando’s growing orgasm disappearing back inside him.

“Carlos,” Lando growled, his own teeth pulling at the sheet, “Just fuck me. Come on, give it to me.”

“But I am enjoying you baby. Just like this.” Carlos’ fingers rubbed at Lando’s prostate, not quite enough pressure. “I waited so long, maybe you can wait a little longer?” He pressed a kiss against the curve of Lando’s arse. He still had his trousers on and it was driving Lando crazy.

“Caaaarloooosss,” Lando growled again, a little louder, making Carlos laugh.

He pressed his nose against Lando’s scent gland, inhaling deeply. He liked to be romantic like this. “This is just to say I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast.” He licked across Lando’s skin with the flat of his tongue. “Forgive me. They were so delicious, so sweet and so cold.”

Sometimes Lando didn’t want to be seduced. Sometimes he wanted to be pounded into the mattress. He wriggled out of Carlos’ grip, flipped the two of them over and sat impertinently on Carlos’ crotch, grinding back again. “Carlos, I swear to God if you recite that poem at me one more time I am going to put a sock in your mouth.”

There was silence for a moment as Carlos blinked up at Lando in confusion, letting Lando pull his trousers down his legs without protest “… Kinky.”

“Yes.” Lando’s voice rumbled in his throat as he tied Carlos to the headboard with his own trousers. Carlos whined but let it happen. “My turn,” Lando breathed over Carlos’ crotch, mouthing at the fabric of his boxers with damp lips and tongue before he pulled them down with his teeth.

“Lando, Jesus-” Carlos threw his head back as Lando devoured him, his legs twitching with the exertion of trying not to buck up into Lando’s soft, warm mouth. “Ah- Lando. Lando. Fuck, I won’t last, I-”

Lando reached a hand up to cover Carlos’ mouth. “Shush.” His other hand formed a tight fist just above Carlos’ balls, squeezing, just like Carlos had a few minutes ago. “I’m in charge. I’ll say when you get to cum.” That made Carlos moan behind Lando’s hand, his eyes rolling back. “You like that? You like it when I boss you around? Do the rest of them tell you what to do? Does Daniel?”

He lined himself up and sank down on Carlos’ cock. Sex could be power. Sex could be control. Sex could be surrender. Sex could be release. Maybe that’s why everyone was so fascinated with it, wanted it desperately. He bit down on Carlos’ nipple, purpling it under his ministrations as he rocked his hips back, achingly slow and teasing now. Well, Carlos deserved it.

“Don’t you dare cum before me.” Lando pressed his nose against Carlos’ neck, breathing in all that cinnamon. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

\--

He knew he shouldn’t have said any of that garbage. It was stupid, weak even, letting them see the cracks in his game face. It was something someone else would have said, not what Lando would have – but he had said it, hadn’t he – full of bitterness and spite and in the heat of the moment he’d meant it. Lewis’ victory was meaningless to Lando, another meaningless number, another notch in the bedpost, another race virtually unchallenged. It hurt, knowing he wasn’t a contender yet, that he might never get to beat Lewis. He’d probably retire before Lando was ready.

Lando tapped out an apology message, pressed send and pitched his phone across the room in the darkness. He’d told Carlos he wanted to be alone tonight but there was something itching at his skin like a fresh wound and he needed to do something to calm it.

He found himself at the hotel’s indoor pool, swimming length after frustrated length at near midnight. The overpowering scent of chlorine dulled his senses as he swam. It was almost like this new world wasn’t there anymore, that he was back at the start of the season, losing himself in the push and pull and breathe repetition of things. He came to rest against the edge, his arms folded against the tile.

“Y’okay?” Daniel’s legs dangled in the water beside Lando’s head, a flipflop threatening to float away.

“Fine,” Lando huffed.

“After a bad race, most people wanna fuck.”

“Your race wasn’t great either.”

“Eh, it was okay. Not my best, but you can’t win ‘em all. Unless you’re Lewis.” Daniel rescued his flipflops and abandoned them beside his t-shirt, sinking into the water next to Lando. He rested there, floating in the water without showing any real intention to swim.

“Any other generation and you’d be world champion by now,” Lando said suddenly, unsure what compelled him.

“Yeah, that’s what they said to Mark and Felipe. I don’t know. Never feels like I’m in the right place at the right time. But there’s always next year, right?” For everything he was saying, he winked at Lando, his hands splashing a little in the water. “Drivers come and go, teams come and go, the wheels keep turning. Anything can happen. 2022’ll be like the Wild West.”

“And you’re putting your money on McLaren right?” Lando’s voice wobbled, suddenly unsure. He’d never thought about changing seats, never sure if other drivers had some inbuilt sense of which way the wind was blowing that he didn’t. Better the car you knew than the car you didn’t. It was starting to look like Carlos had made a mistake already.

“In for a penny,” Daniel hummed. He tugged at Lando’s leg, pulling him under the water for a moment. “You look good all wet.”

“Then you should see me in champagne,” Lando winked back, offering his challenge.

Daniel crowded in against him, pressing him into the corner of the pool. He pressed his lips against Lando’s. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on the mend. I can taste again!
> 
> Also, I made a tumblr again. It has literally nothing on it right now because I still have to build it but it's manykinsmen.


	14. emilia romagna, 2020

Worse than the racing was the game of musical chairs they played. It ate at Lando’s insides and he was already safe in his seat, what was it Alex had said? _Sitting pretty?_ One by one the seats filled. He kept a note on his phone, filling each position with a name as it locked. Alonso to Alpine, that was one less seat than there were people already. Who was he losing? If he were King, who’s head would be on the block?

“You’re safe. I’m safe. Isn’t that enough?” Carlos kissed his knuckles, prised the phone from Lando’s vice grip.

Lando snatched it back, his hands trembling. “Alex doesn’t have a seat yet.” Maybe it was the wrong question to ask himself. If he could save just one person, who would it be? Who would it be if it was George and Carlos, the entire grid lined up against the wall. He’d dreamt of it.

“He’ll be fine.”

“But what if he’s not.” It hung between them, the question of what if next year it was them. What if, what if, what if? Ferrari was a could of garages over but it felt like it might have been the other side of the world. No more shared naps in the motorhome, no more watching each other’s extraction tests, no more seats side by side on planes. “He’s a good driver, Carlos. A great racer. He’s got a championship in him.”

“Everyone does, if the stars align.” Carlos wrapped his arms around Lando, spooning him beneath the covers. “I do. You do.” He nuzzled against Lando’s scent gland, pushing stray curls out of the way with his nose.

A sob died in Lando’s throat. “It’s not fair, is it?” Suddenly he didn’t feel shiny and new anymore. Next year would be his third. Some racers didn’t even get that many seasons. It wasn’t enough – and there were things you couldn’t control, the car coming apart beneath you, someone colliding into you on that first corner.

“No. But we survive. We made it this far. You can’t worry about anyone else. Keep your head on straight, focus on what’s in front of you, breathe. Nothing else matters.” Carlos squeezed Lando’s hands tight, pulling them in towards him, into Lando’s chest. “I love you.”

“Will you still love me next year?” Lando asked, afraid to turn and look at Carlos, his entire body tense as the phone screen faded from blue to black. Carlos would have a new team, a new omega, a new bed, better poised and practiced than Lando. Sure, he was younger, he would get there, but the years between them would remain the same. He would always be chasing, never catching. “Even when you’re loving Charles?”

“It doesn’t go away.” Carlos bit the back of Lando’s neck, sucking a purple mark onto it. “This moment is ours, forever. Nothing can change that. Even next year, when you’re loving Daniel.”

Lando turned and wept softly into Carlos’ shoulder.

\--

The parties were fading out for the year. Lewis’ victory was almost a certainty and another celebration in his honour before the big one felt like overkill. The drivers seemed to prefer to drown their sorrows at the bar, an informal, rag tag gathering of odds and ends.

Lance and Esteban sat out on the terrace arguing, Esteban waving his arms around emphatically while Lance took it on the chin, steely jawed. Romain and Kevin swapped rounds with each other, an oddly jovial mood for two men staring down unemployment. Pierre, Max, Alex and George made a strange quartet into a back booth, Alex on the verge of tears. There was down and then there was out, Lando thought, ordering himself a screwdriver. Vodka was more his speed than beer it turned out.

“It’s been an honour my friend,” Romain laughed, clinking glasses with Kevin.

“To going overboard and not down with the ship,” Kevin practically howled in return, his face already rosy with drunkenness. “God I’m too old for this.”

“Twenty-eight and you think you’re old? Wait until that baby gets here.”

Twenty-eight? Jesus, Lando had thought Kevin was older. “You’re pregnant?” He hadn’t realised he’d spoken out loud until he heard Kevin chuckled in response.

“No. My wife, Louise. She’s a beta.” It wasn’t easy for an omega man to get someone pregnant, but it wasn’t unheard of either. Still, it would raise a few eyebrows. “I’m pulling a Rosberg. Going home to raise that family.”

Romain smacked a hand across Kevin’s chest, equally as drunk and giggly. “You’d need a title for that. We’re going out with a whimper not a bang.”

“Well they’re not having me for another year. Fuck this game, I’m out. It’s not worth it.” He laughed again with the wild abandon of a man finding himself suddenly beholden to nothing and nobody.

Lando nodded his head and left them to their strange celebrations like a Mad Hatter’s tea party. He slid into the booth beside Pierre. George had an arm thrown over Alex, trying desperately to comfort him. “Look, it’s not that bad. There are still seats-”

“They’re fucking firing me George. And I’m not going to AlphaTauri either – they want somebody new.”

“What- What’s happening to Dani?” Lando asked before George gave him a look that told him not to pursue it.

“I- I’ll talk to Christian. To Helmut. It’ll be fine, I’m sure that between the two teams there’s a place-” Max was trying his best, bless him.

“Max they don’t give a crap what you think. They’ll take you out back and shoot you too if you slip up,” Alex snarled back. “You’re only special if you’re winning. I could have had a podium by now. I’m just…”

“Unlucky? Yeah, I know that feeling.” Pierre’s lips were drawn tight in an empathetic grimace. He took a gulp of wine. “At least Ferrari’s honest about it.”

“Yeah? And where is Charles right now? Already putting Carlos in his place, right?” Max spat, aggressive, then softening as he saw Lando’s pale face. “In the second driver’s seat, I mean.” He floundered. It didn’t make Lando feel any better.

“Maybe drinking was a bad idea. We should just go upstairs and sleep it off. It’ll feel better in the morning,” George offered desperately, looking around for approval from someone, anyone.

“Upstairs?” Max raised an eyebrow.

“I- That isn’t-” Alex cut George off.

“Yeah. Upstairs. Fuck it, lets go.”

\--

Lando didn’t expect it of Max, but here he was, bent over for Alex, the bed shaking and clattering against the wall with every thrust. This was a transgression – worse than a beta fucking an alpha, a second driver fucking a first. There was rage in Alex’s eyes, every smack of his hand against Max’s pale arse cracking through the air before Max’s body seemed to register the pain of the blow.

Pierre watched from the chair in the corner, one hand fisted around his cock, the other around his wine glass. He licked the Merlot from his teeth like a predator, enjoying the show. “George, why don’t you fuck Max’s pretty mouth?”

“I…” George blushed from where he sat at the head of the bed. He leant down to whisper to Max. “Is it okay? Can I?” Max gave the nod and then George was sliding his long, gorgeous cock between Max’s lips.

Lando wasn’t sure where to look. He sat on the arm of the chair beside Pierre, still mostly dressed. He felt like he shouldn’t be watching this. It wasn’t about him, wasn’t for him. Pierre’s fingers tangled in Lando’s curls, pulling his head back. The wineglass was empty now and lying on its side in the carpet. Pierre guided Lando down towards his cock.

“Be a good boy Lando.” Pierre’s scent hung thick and heady in the air. Bergamont to offset Max’s black pepper and Alex’s citrus. George’s pear almost disappeared in the fugue of it all.

“What if I don’t want to be?” Lando half-teased, looking up at Pierre from his knees.

Pierre flashed a canine in response, licking over it. He pushed his thumb between Lando’s lips, pressing down on his tongue. He turned Lando’s head to look at Max, speared with cock at both ends. “Well you can ask Max what we do to brats.” Lando turned again to look at Pierre. He hadn’t realised how threateningly beautiful Pierre was before. “Your choice. You want to be good? Or you want to go over my knee?”

Lando opened his mouth, letting Pierre rest the pink head of his cock on his tongue and fuck into his mouth in one long, slow stroke. “Good boy. Very good boy. You should take notes Max – Lando can do as he’s told.”

If Max replied, Lando didn’t hear it. He was somewhere else. It felt like floating, almost.


	15. turkey, 2020

It was Lando’s first time in Turkey unchaperoned and he was stuck in the hotel. The irony wasn’t lost on him. There was a rhythm to it now though, the gym, the track, the hotel, the pool, his room, bed. What a ridiculous year he had chosen to come of age. The boredom was getting to him, more than him really, it was getting to everyone. He hadn’t made a habit of googling himself, at least not since it happened, but he couldn’t delay it forever. He had to keep some kind of eye on his twitch stats, after all.

He lay on his stomach, idly kicking his legs behind him as he scrolled through Twitter. There had been the pretext of a gaming tournament tonight at some point, although it had long been forgotten. Charles lay draped over a chair, making faces and messing around with an Instagram filter. George and Alex had descended into squabbling over Super Smash Bros with Max and Daniel.

“I thought we were meant to be working together George. GEORGE.” Alex slammed his shoulder into George’s ribcage childishly. “You’re a rude little bitch.” He took the opportunity to poke his fingers in George’s stomach, provoking a giggling fit. Max turned to stare, distracted.

“YES. VICTORY.” Daniel proclaimed, raising his fists in the air like he hadn’t won by default. He seemed to be taking the night to pretend he was still one of the paddock juniors.

That’s when Lando clicked the link. He was never all that good at staying away from F1 gossip sites, lurking silently. This one was full of photographs of drivers together, trying to work out who was fucking. For the most part, drivers elected to keep it to themselves, but there was the odd moment someone slipped up – Senna and Berger, most famously, were caught sneaking a kiss after a race. It was nobody’s business, Lando thought, except their own.

Most of it was pretty tame suggestions, not particularly far off the mark, omegas paired up with everyone, betas paired up with each other. The most heated debates were about alpha-alpha combinations. _How does that even work? No way that doesn’t end in tears._ Lando smirked. How little they understood. Fucking was just, well fucking, it didn’t mean anything more than that unless you wanted it to and you didn’t have to fuck to care about someone incredibly deeply.

Part way down the thread, it got nasty – some presentationist saying that omegas got their seats by fucking their way in. _And what about Norris?_ _You saying they’re all paedos?_ Lando furrowed his brow. _obvs. you can just tell looking at him anyway. look at the slut, pulls the same faces as leglerg and princess nico._ Why was he still reading? There were photos too, Zak squeezing his shoulder or the particular frown on Binotto’s face as he looked at Charles made to look incriminating. _nico was getting railed by daddy toto – probably the whole of the fia. got him a championship too. then he got out of there so he could stop sucking old man knot._

He snapped the laptop shut, his heart pounding. The noise was louder than he’d intended it to be and his breathing was speeding up. The now familiar feeling of panic was tightening in his chest. When had everyone started looking at him? He needed to get it back under control but he couldn’t quite seem to get a grip on himself.

“Lando, are you okay?” Max was touching his shoulder, the same way Zak had been in the photo and Lando cringed away from his touch. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened with Kevin. He hiccoughed, starting to cry. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“I’magooddriveraren’tI?Ideservetobehereright?” Came out of Lando’s mouth in a garbled mess of syllables. Charles and Max both blinked back at him, trying to decipher the English.

“You’re a great driver. Who the fuck said you weren’t?” Daniel’s smile slipped, a deep groove appearing between his eyebrows that Lando couldn’t recall having seen before.

Charles thought to open up Lando’s laptop. He read for a few moments, sighing, as George talked Lando through his breathing and Alex squeezed his hand. “Ugh. These garbage sites. Lando, not a word of this is true.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Like any of them could drive. What do they know?”

Daniel peered over at the screen. “Omega bashing again? Jesus fucking Christ.”

“But Kevin- All that and he’s lost his seat anyway-” Lando hiccoughed, still teary.

“If anyone tries that with you, I’ll put them through the wall,” Max growled.

Alex grimaced, biting on his own thumb knuckle, his eyes downcast. “… I…” He paused, unable to meet anyone’s gaze, shying away from even George. “I asked Guenther if they had a seat for me.”

“Alex, shit, you can’t-” George’s eyes were wild with panic. Max’s nostrils flared.

“Doesn’t matter. He said they wanted alphas for next year, that they wanted _results._ ” It resonated through the room louder than a backhand. Not even Daniel had a response for that.

\--

Lewis won. It was a foregone conclusion really, all the pomp and ceremony of it falling flat among the rest of the paddock. But Lewis, God, what a star, what a dazzling light, surrounded by flashing cameras and microphones. They were clamouring for a knighthood, they were waiting for him to announce next year, they wanted nothing but Lewis, Lewis, Lewis. The world loved nothing better than a winner.

Just looking at Valtteri was almost too much. He crumpled like the nose of car against a crash barrier. He smiled, he offered his congratulations and then he withdrew, polite and gracious in defeat, as usual. There was control in that, refusing to be cast as the villain, but resignation too.

Maybe the cameras weren’t watching, but the rest of them were and Valtteri might have lost, but he was first among losers. Kimi pressed a shot down in front of him, an arm slung over Valtteri’s shoulder and something muttered quietly in Finnish that had Valtteri slamming back the vodka, turning the glass upside down.

“Why does he keep going?” Charles asked Seb, quiet enough Lando barely caught it sitting right beside them.

“There’s always next year,” Seb shrugged, taking a shot of his own.

“No, Kimi. He has his title. He has his pride. He’s left before. You must know, if anyone does. He doesn’t truly believe he’ll get another?”

Seb sighed, filling his glass again. “There’s nothing in the world like this. It ruins everything else for you. At least he hasn’t gone home and started training up his kids.”

Lando couldn’t avoid the question any longer. “And Nico? What happened to him?”

It was uncomfortable to hold Seb’s gaze. The shot glass slammed against the table a second time. “You know, this sport is very messy sometimes. People get hurt. We’re all like junkies for it, masochists, and we all want to win. We’re cruel to ourselves and we’d fuck over our own mothers for that title.” He poured a third shot and polished it off just as fast.

“You should probably slow down. I know you’re celebrating a podium but-”

Seb cut Charles off. “ _Being second is to be the first of the ones that lose._ Third. What a joke. I am not even runner-up.” He stood up and sauntered across the room towards the bathroom.

\--

Lando woke up on the sofa in Valtteri’s suite, the commiseration party, if you could call it that, having died off. He had no idea what time it was, but the sun was rising over Istanbul and the light was falling over his eyes, orange and angry. He extracted himself from the tangle of Charles and Carlos’ limbs. He reached over for a glass of what he presumed was water, only to discover with a grimace that it was vodka.

When his brain came back into focus, the vague rhythms of someone speaking on the balcony out behind him tuned in to Daniel’s voice, hushed and husky. “I do miss you, you know.”

“If I’m honest, I wish you’d never left. I know it was me…” Max trailed off.

“Nah, it wasn’t you. It’s… Well it’s racing, isn’t it? And you’re doing just fine without me.”

He didn’t look, but there was the unmistakable wet sound of a kiss.

“I don’t want us to be like that. Like all the others. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t worth – nothing is worth ruining this over.”

“Mate, you’re gonna be champion no matter what.”

“And so are you – there’s time –” Another kiss.

“You’re smart enough to know which way the wind’s blowing Max. And it ain’t mine. But I’ll stick around for a little. There’s life in this old man yet.”

“It’s funny. No one’s ever accused me of being smart before.”

“You’re smart, Max. And beautiful and funny and fast. I burnt down my entire world for you and I would do it again in a heartbeat. Maybe I’m a romantic like that.”

They were kissing again and Lando needed to pee so badly. He yawned, loud and over the top, stretching his arms up over the back of the sofa, giving them enough warning to pull apart and act innocent.

“Baby’s first hangover! Say cheese!” Daniel snapped a picture of Lando with his phone, cackling as Lando made a dash for the bathroom.


	16. bahrain, 2020

If there was anything else on anyone’s mind that weekend, the flames burnt it away.

It happened somewhere out of view behind him. Lando knew there was a red flag before he knew why they needed one, the wreck coming into his peripheral only as he rounded the seventh corner. He could smell it from his car, even through the helmet, the smoke, the oil, the metal. He had to wait for the engineer to tell him who it was, desperately checking off cars in front of him, in his mirrors. _Racing Point, Alpha Tauri, Renault, Ferraris, Mercedes up ahead, Red Bull, Racing Point, Renault, Red Bull._ Someone at the back. Where was Carlos? What colour was it inside the flames? He couldn’t tell.

Reaching parc fermé lasted a lifetime, Lando breathing noisily into his helmet all the way. He couldn’t have a panic attack – not now, not with everyone watching. Then his engineer telling him it was Romain. _They don’t know if he’s okay_ caught in his mind like air in his throat. The first moment he could he took his helmet off just to feel the air on his face, to take a couple of desperate gulping breaths.

Carlos wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his face into Lando’s neck, seeking comfort as much as giving it in the mutual exchanging of scents but it was here too, the iron, the carbon, the sweat. Lando steeled himself. His tears were not for the cameras, not like this.

“He’s out – he’s in the medical car!” The shout came down the pitlane, echoing in every language that they spoke, footage of him sitting in the backseat broadcast on every screen. The paddock breathed as one, a deep sigh, a release, a shudder.

And then it was repeating, the impact, the tearing, the ignition, again, again, again.

Lando excused himself to the bathroom. He locked the door and sank to his knees, vomit thick and hot pouring out of him while salt stung at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to call his mother. He wanted to crawl into bed. He wanted to never look at a car again so long as he lived. _In through the nose, out through the mouth. In for seven, hold for four, out for five._ George had drilled it into him by now. George, Jesus, he hadn’t even thought to look for George – he hadn’t even considered – but it wasn’t. It wasn’t and it was okay and it hadn’t happened, not today.

He wiped his mouth with toilet paper and flushed it away, rubbed a hand over his face until he just looked hot and sweaty, not like he had been crying. He stuck his head under the tap and took a long drink. _In through the nose, out through the mouth. Come on Lando. You can do this. You can do this. Put your face back on. He’s alive, you’re alive. Now buckle the fuck up._

\--

No one wanted to be alone, not tonight. The trophies and the champagne didn’t matter, just this, sitting one beside each other, committing each face, each scent to memory. There was a fierceness on some faces, like Daniel’s, his mouth sealed and drawn tight, severe. Others crumpled in despair, Pierre, Charles, the tears finally allowed to fall behind the safety of a closed door. Any other year and this would be the hospital waiting room, but this bastard year had robbed them of it.

“Just burns. God was feeling merciful tonight.” Sergio clicked through beads one after another. “It’s a real halo.”

“Shut up. Shut up,” Charles snarled from his huddle in the corner of the sofa. “You can take your God and shove him up your ass.”

“Charles-” Esteban put a hand on Charles’ arm which was quickly shrugged away.

“No. Why should it be one and not another? Why should it be any of us? No. No. You’re right I’m sorry. I need… I need air. I need a cigarette. Fuck.” Charles was talking too fast, indecisive. He pushed himself up and stalked over to the balcony where Lando saw Kimi hand him a cigarette without question.

“I… Is everyone feeling okay…?” Lewis clearly felt pressured to talk, his hand rubbing over his elbow, a leader by virtue of his title.

“No. Obviously not.” Lando couldn’t recall having seen Daniel truly angry before. “You saw them playing it over and over and over. I mean this is fucking entertainment. It’s a game we play with our goddamn lives and they all watching us, hoping for a crash because that’s just so much more interesting. They’ll remember tonight. They’ll say remember when it was like that? When it was so fucking exciting?” He brought his fist down on the coffee table. The whole room jumped. Lando could smell his scent, a tempestuous storm now.

Lando didn’t mean to, but a whimper slipped from his lips, a squeak of a thing, like an animal caught in a trap. Carlos clutched him closer as everyone turned to stare.

“You’re scaring him,” Carlos growled back at Daniel. His gaze flicked around to George, Alex, Nicky, how they huddled close together, wide-eyed and nervous. “Don’t go throwing your weight around.”

“Throwing my weight around? What are you accusing me of? I’m angry. I’m rightfully fucking angry that nobody is taking this seriously.” Daniel stood, squaring up and Carlos did the same in response.

“You think I’m not taking this seriously?”

Max sprang up to separate them, of all people. He pushed a hand against each chest. “Jesus. Why are you fighting? What is wrong with you? Romain almost died. Almost, but didn’t. And there’s nothing we could have done about it before. And there’s nothing we can do about it tonight. We can go to the FIA in the morning. But come on- Come on- No more posturing.”

It calmed them enough that each sat back down in their respective seats, chastised and softened. Max offered Daniel his neck to sent, letting him breath long and deep. Silence descended again. They should have all returned to their rooms but no one could bear to leave. Valtteri mumbled something to Lewis and disappeared for a few moments, returning with his arms full of pillows and blankets which he spread out on the floor. He draped a sheet over Lando and Carlos, offering an almost apologetic smile.

There would only be more tears that night.

\--

Sleep was fitful, too many bodies, too hot. Nicky had crawled off to sleep in the bath. That was close enough for him.

Lando woke first to the sound of Charles sobbing into Pierre’s chest, hands balled into tight fists. They were moving against one another, slow and fluid, like a boat in the small harbour waves. Lando didn’t understand the word Pierre said in hushed French beside Charles’ ear. Pierre’s eyes met his over Charles’ shoulder. In the darkness, their colour was indescribable, shifting and moving as it caught the moonlight from the balcony. He nodded minutely. Lando closed his eyes and left them to it.

Later, he woke again, this time to Valtteri and Kevin and Kimi out on the balcony. Lando tried in vain to return to slumber for several minutes before giving up and wriggling out of Carlos’ grip. He padded out onto the balcony, a blanket draped over his shoulders. They were smoking too. Jesus Christ, did everyone smoke.

“S’bad for you, you know,” Lando said quietly as Kimi offered. Oh God it stank. Well, that was weed, which explained a little. “Have you been smoking this all night?” He quirked an accusatory eyebrow.

Kimi shrugged. “Calms you down. You sure you don’t want any?” He held the joint out for a few moments while Lando considered – it was probably what he’d given Charles earlier – and ultimately decided against. “Suit yourself.” He passed it back to Kevin.

“This is how you stay mellow enough to stay in this crazy sport. The others won’t tell you but, heh-” Kevin blew a smoke ring. “The drink will wind you up, the sex will let you blow it off but this. Now this keeps your head on straight. I told you Val. More of this.” He slapped Valtteri on the back as he passed it along.

“Ugh. And have Lewis give me another your body is your temple talk? Not worth it. But he can’t tell me shit tonight.” He chuckled and took a long drag. “What are you doing up Lutunen? Are the Frenchmen fucking again?”

“Lutunen? You’re going soft Valtteri,” Kimi laughed before Lando could answer. “You sound like Kovalainen.”

“I’m not shit like Kovalainen.” Valtteri grumbled back. His own drag wasn’t as deep as Kevin’s. He passed it along.

“Heikki was underrated.” Kimi paused to ruffle Lando’s hair, unusually affectionate. “Kind. Unusual around here.”

“Yeah and it did nothing but hurt him,” Kevin hummed. “Still. Better to be remembered for being kind than for nothing at all.” He paused, his eyes on Kimi’s throat as he breathed, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. Then his gaze fell on Lando. “Wanna fuck? Not out here. Valtteri’s.”

“Volunteer me why don’t you?” Valtteri rolled his eyes.

“Like you’re not up for it,” Kevin licked over the shell of Valtteri’s ear playfully. Lando watched Valtteri shudder and try to pass it off as chill. Lando nodded, mesmerised. “Kimi?”

“Yeah. Sure. Why the fuck not?” He flicked the spent joint onto the carpark below.


	17. sakhir, 2020

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Carlos grasped hold of Lando’s finger, letting them pull gently out of his grasp. His eyes were big and dark and full of fear as he formed the words, slow and purposeful, each carefully chosen and considered. He sat turned sideways on his chair, his gaze flicking between Lando and Charles, talking with similar purpose to Sebastian.

“I know. I don’t have to, but I want to. That’s the difference.” Lando smiled almost apologetically down at Carlos, who kissed his knuckles softly in response. “Kevin won’t be here next year. We’ve got to learn to look after each other without him.”

Carlos sighed, his thumb rubbing circles over Lando’s wrist. “I know. I just… Don’t be too kind. We don’t deserve it.”

Charles slung an arm around Lando’s shoulder, finished with his own conversation. “Got your spare underwear? We’re lucky we’ve got some warning this time and it’s not race day.” His gaze met Carlos’ and he offered a nod of understanding. “I’ll look after him. On my honour.”

“Pfft. Like you have any, cabrón,” Carlos snorted with a smile. He pulled his cap down lower, now looking at his shoes. “Thank you. Really. It shouldn’t be up to you to deal with the rut… We need a better system in place.”

“Ah, this year. What are you going to do?” Charles offered with a casual shrug. “We should go, Kevin is waiting for us.” He gave Lando a moment to kiss Carlos goodbye, then pulled him along out of the room and towards the elevator.

It occurred to Lando as the floors ticked up that Lewis hadn’t bothered to come see him for his heat. Why had he agreed to do this? For Lewis? Or for Kevin and Charles? He squeezed Charles’ hand. “Do you think… Do you think it’s as bad as they were saying it was with Checo?” He bit his lip, remembering the face of shame Sergio had worn for weeks afterwards every time he saw Lando or Kevin. The he still did sometimes.

“I don’t know –” The doors opened and the wave of scent hit them like a thick smog. Lando coughed, choking on it. He could hear Charles beside him doing the same. Lando pulled his shirt up over his nose for a few breaths before his senses adjusted to it. Lewis’ scent was oddly floral. Lando was never good with flowers, he couldn’t isolate it, only that it smelt like the last wedding Lando had been to, the church packed to the brim with blooms on every available surface.

Kevin was already in the room when they reached it, perched on Lewis’ lap. Lewis was kissing him like he was trying to devour him. The room was a state, bedsheets kicked aside, the contents of Lewis’ suitcase strewn about the room, chairs and furniture upended like Lewis had been in some kind of frenzy. Lewis’ roared more than growled at the new scent of omega in the air, his hand tearing Kevin’s underwear away with one harsh rip.

“Need it. Need it. Need it.” This wasn’t the articulate and poised Lewis Lando was used to. He shared a look with Charles as Lewis yanked on Kevin’s hair, a mewl in Kevin’s throat.

Charles dropped his bag on the ground and flew to Kevin’s side. “You okay?” He let Lewis take a fistful of his shirt and tug at it possessively, pushing his tongue into Charles’ mouth like a drowning man gasping at air.

“Yeah. I can handle rough. He’s out of it though. Tap out if you have to. Is Lando-?”

“I’m here.” Lando found his voice and scrambled into the tangle of limbs. God, what had he signed up for?

\--

It felt like days later when Lewis finally slipped into sleep, though in reality it was only hours. It wasn’t over yet, but they could probably eke out a couple of hours rest. Charles panted, trying to catch his breath, his back up against the wall and cum drying between his thighs. Lando lay flopped on his stomach beside him, his hand squeezing at Charles’ aching legs, trying to help.

Kevin was much better practiced at ruts than either of them. He rummaged through his bag and tossed them a couple of energy drinks, lying flat on his back on the floor on Charles’ other side. He arched and twisted a little, like he’d pulled something. He looked incredible like this, Lando thought, his hair flopped over his face, thick with sweat.

“Was Checo this bad?” Charles asked between desperate gulps of liquid.

“No. Lewis always has bad ruts though. He was tearing this place apart when I got here.” Kevin nodded across to where a curtain hung mostly off its hooks. “I don’t know how Nico handled him. Part of me wants to call him and ask.”

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “More than your life’s worth to do that.”

“I know. Sad though. Lewis still talks about him in his sleep.” Kevin hummed, wistful.

The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes, each of them trying to collect the energy to get up and hobble to the bathroom. Lando frowned at his empty drink and pitched it in the vague direction of the bin, not caring to see if it went in or not.

Despite all of Lando’s questions, it was Charles that caved first. “What happened? You know? With them? Was it like Max and Daniel?”

“Yes and no. Every time drivers fall in love with each other it’s the same and every time it’s different. Max and Daniel let things come between them, sure, but Lewis and Nico… I think maybe they thought love was a trophy that could be won and lost. Or maybe they confused loving racing with loving each other. Lewis said once he loved the champagne most about winning. It’s funny, Nico smells like champagne.” Kevin pushed himself up. “Showers. You first Charles, you’re stickiest.”

\--

Lando had never seen George cry like that before, his knees clutched tight to his chest in the Mercedes motorhome. Lando had helped Alex sneak in to see him while Toto was distracted with the press. George sobbed big, ugly tears while Alex held him, soothing him with hushed whispers.

“I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up so bad Alex.”

“It’s not your fault. Toto knows that, the world knows that. It was just a mistake, you’d have won if-”

“I had one chance Alex. One chance.” George rocked back and forth, hysterical.

Lando crouched and clutched George’s knees, grounding him. “Come on George. You taught me this. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In for seven, hold for four, out for five.” He tried to hold George’s gaze, keep him level and steady. “This is irrational. You delivered more than they could have hoped for in their wildest dreams. The press is asking them if they’ll offer you a seat next year.”

He glanced over his shoulder, the bizarre feeling that they were being watched weighing on him. He was right though. Valtteri loitered in the doorway, a blank stare on his face. Lando quirked an eyebrow, unsure of whether to send him away or summon him in.

After a moment, Valtteri stepped over the threshold hesitantly. He crouched beside Lando, putting a hand on George’s arm, firm but not threatening. “George, you drove incredibly, and no one deserves a seat at Mercedes more than you. It’ll come. This year, next year, doesn’t matter, it’s got your name on it. It’s yours by right of conquest.”

George hiccoughed, then began to regain control of his breathing. Slowly, unknotting himself and leaning back into Alex’s embrace, scenting. Valtteri stood up and nodded. He tugged on Lando’s arm, motioning for him to give them some space.

They went out the back way, both of them wanting to avoid Toto. Lando followed Valtteri into a quite alleyway between the motorhomes and watched him take off his cap and mop sweat off him brow.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to say that.” Lando stuttered.

“I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true. If Lewis retires now, the seat is his. If I win next year, Lewis retires, the seat is his. If Lewis wins next year, I get the boot, the seat is his. There’s no scenario in which he isn’t sitting in a Mercedes in 2022 – and he deserves it. He wants it. He’s always wanted it.” To a stranger, Valtteri might have looked calm, but to Lando there was something stirring in those pale blue irises.

“Are you… Are you okay?”

“Kind of you to ask.” He gave Lando a small, sad smile. “I think I would like to be alone, if you don’t mind. I’m sure Carlos is waiting for you somewhere.”

Lando couldn’t help it. He wrapped his arms around Valtteri in a tight, genuine embrace, pressing his forehead against Valtteri’s shoulder. It seemed to surprise Valtteri, who took a few moments to return the hug.

“See you tomorrow Val. Get some sleep.”


	18. abu dhabi, 2020

In most seasons, the final race didn’t change much – it was one last drive, for honour this time. This season wasn’t special. Fifth again. Lando rubbed a hand through his damp hair as he pulled the balaclava off. He could be proud of that, it felt like a good assessment of his skills, of the car, of the potential that he was storing up for next season. He’d smiled watching Carlos roll into the garage behind him. _Second driver? Take that._ And he’d finished ahead of Daniel too, a statement of intent.

Carlos slung an arm about Lando’s neck, pressing a sweaty kiss to his cheek. “Good drive. I’ll get you next time.”

Lando nuzzled back against him, enjoying this, the slide of their skin against each other as they helped each other out of race-stained fireproofs and overalls, stopping more than once to steal filthy glances and slimy touches. Fuck, Abu Dhabi was hot. It didn’t feel like an ending, not yet, but it was. As much as there was excitement to the post-race glow, there was mourning too. They wouldn’t have this moment again, all post-race adrenaline and lust. No Zak knocking fervently on the door with “Guys. GUYS. The press.”

Reluctantly, they hosed themselves down and put on clean shirts and shorts. “Later, baby,” Carlos whispered, pressing a kiss behind Lando’s ear before they parted for separate interviews.

From here, Lando could see most of the non-podium finishers. Alex desperately fielded questions about not having a drive for next year, if he was expecting to renew with Red Bull now he’d finished fourth. If you looked close enough, you could see Alex’s eyes glazed with damp as he scurried away from their sentences, though the camera couldn’t quite seem to pick it up. Sergio seemed far too animated for a man in the same boat, his hands doing most of his talking for him.

“Are you excited to have Daniel as a team-mate next season?” Even in the background of the question, Lando could hear Daniel’s laugh from across the paddock.

He smiled, looking down at his shoes. “Yeah, yeah I guess so. I’ll miss Carlos, but I think it’ll be fun. I like Dan.” Lando’s eyes locked on Valtteri finally emerging. Valtteri had put his PR face on, the blank stare, the cap pulled low, his teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth like they yearned for gum. Lando might have finished with honour, but not everyone had. Second was a bad look in a Mercedes, even if Lewis had finished behind him.

As the reporters packed up, he walked over to Valtteri and offered him a piece of bubblegum. It wasn’t the kind Valtteri normally liked – this one pink and sweet over the clinical spearmint Valtteri usually had but he accepted it nonetheless, his teeth grinding furiously. “2021 is gonna be your year,” Lando said, his hand on Valtteri’s elbow.

“Yeah, right,” Valtteri snorted. “Give me five minutes to mourn this year before I start planning for the next one.”

\--

“They’re signing Checo.” Alex knocked back a shot in the hotel bar. “They won’t confirm it for a few days yet but that’s what they’re doing. I’m out on my arse. The door’s closed. Been nice knowing you.”

There wasn’t anything Lando could think to say that meant anything. He ordered another round of tequila slammers instead – with orange and cinnamon rather than lemon and salt. He preferred it that way. “What are you gonna do then?”

Alex rolled his shoulders as he sucked on an orange wedge, licking his lips clean with his tongue. He broke into a laugh. “Horner’s offered me reserve.”

“You’re gonna take it right?” George squeaked, clutching at Alex’s shoulder. His mouth stopped just short of a smile. “I mean that’s your ticket back in. You can’t honestly think Checo’s gonna work out in the long term.”

“Yeah, I am. Like a fucking idiot. Good thing I’ve got no pride.” Alex was so enthusiastic about the slammer it was hard to tell if he licked the cinnamon or snorted it. The tequila bit hard, making Lando’s entire body shudder before he chased with the fruit, it’s juice squirting down his chin. “Lily thinks I’m an idiot. Not for taking reserve, for sticking with Red Bull. But it’s not like another team would touch this. ‘cept Alpha Tauri. Then I’d be fired and demoted.”

George pulled Alex into his chest as little spoon and pressed the shot in his hand to Alex’s lips. This time Alex chased with George, their mouths meeting in a fury of tongues. For a moment, Lando thought they were going to fuck there and then, up against the bar with everyone watching.

“DISGUSTING,” Lando giggled, poking George in the side until they separated.

“Sorry,” George mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lando could smell him heating up, even if dark trousers hid the growing wetness between George’s thighs. “Red Bull are idiots. Horner’s especially an idiot. Max has like one brain cell on a time share.”

That made Alex laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine joy, even just for a moment. “George, promise me you’ll never change.” He ruffled a hand through George’s hair and took the last shot on the bar, slamming the glass back down without remembering the chase. He stretched an arm out towards the stairs, suddenly gleeful, like Lando remembered Romain and Kevin had been. “As us ex-Red Bull drivers say, lets get out of this Goddamn Hellhole.”

Lando waved them off as Carlos and Daniel sidled up on either side of him. Carlos slipped a hand around his waist, his thumb rubbing over Lando’s hipbone, worming its was under his shirt. Daniel flagged down the bartender.

“Tequila with cinnamon’s nice. But tequila with salt is the classic.” He winked at Lando.

Carlos paused, speaking right into Lando’s ear as he kissed his temple. “You don’t have to choose. Both is good.”

\--

“Hey baby.” Carlos kissed Lando’s bare stomach, teasing his tongue around Lando’s navel. He bit at the delicate skin there, bringing purple marks to the surface as Lando squeaked and wriggled, trying to escape the assault. Daniel held his wrists tight enough to hold him there. “This is my favourite bit of you. Little soft belly.”

“Don’t tell anyone else that. He’ll get extra cruches,” Dan grinned down at Lando as Lando stuck his tongue out in response. He kept Lando’s gaze as Carlos took Lando’s half-hard cock in his mouth and Lando’s mouth fell open, his head tipping back into the mattress. “Fat cock too. That’s gonna need a workout.”

Daniel devoured Lando’s moans, pulling pressing Lando’s arms down and forcing his back to arch up to meet him. That gave Carlos enough space to slip his hands beneath Lando and grab hold of his ass cheeks, kneading at them with his strong palms. He let Lando’s cock fall out of his mouth with a wet pop. “How many times do you think we can make him cum when he’s not in heat?” Carlos mused, letting his cheek rest on Lando’s thigh.

“Oh four no problem,” Daniel hummed, pulling at Lando’s ear with his teeth until Lando squeaked and tipped his head. He took the opportunity to sink his teeth into Lando’s exposed scent gland. “But let’s make it a challenge. Say six?”

“Six is good, I think.” Carlos’s finger pressed against Lando’s wet hole teasingly, not quite pushing in. He spent a minute making another hickey on Lando’s inner thigh before he came back up for air as Daniel used his free hand to pull at Lando’s unguarded nipples. “You got that bag of toys you were talking about?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sorry got distracted. They’re just so perky.” Daniel gave one last pinch and let go of Lando’s wrists, striding across his room toward the wardrobe.

Lando attempted to sit up, only to be smacked on his tender stomach by Carlos’ waiting hand. “Nope. Stay there.” Lando whined, pouting but was persuaded to do as he was told by Carlos’ mouth moving back onto his cock. He tangled a hand in Carlos’ luscious hair, suppressing the urge to buck up.

Suddenly, from behind him there was a loud whirring noise. Lando gasped, glancing over at his shoulder at a grinning Dan brandishing a magic wand. “Oh yeah. You’ll love this.” He tested the vibration against Lando’s stomach, making him shriek and curl up. “Mhmm. Might need the handcuffs. Hang on.”

Moments later, Lando’s wrists were tied to different bedposts. Carlos and Daniel sat on each of his thighs. The sensation was intense, Lando’s eyes rolling up into his skull at the first touch. It was warm almost to the point of being hot. His cock went from vaguely interested to fully erected in the blink of an eye. If only he could get a racing start that good. He keened, every muscle brought taut.

“It’s okay. You can cum, don’t hold it,” Carlos encouraged.

Lando didn’t need telling twice. He came like a geyser, surprising both Dan and Carlos. Carlos sat back on Lando’s foot, only just dodging out of the way while Dan cackled like a witch on Halloween. “Almost as good as the first time I used it on Max.” He turned it off, letting Lando’s cock breathe. It was just a minute’s respite before Dan was powering it back up again. “Okay, that’s one. How many did we say? Seven?”

“Yeah, seven.”

Lando groaned.


	19. bahrain, maybe, 2021

“THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN, BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN,” Daniel belted out as he made his way through the barriers into the paddock beside Lando, grinning so broad it looked like he was trying to swallow the whole world in his smile. He shook Lando by the shoulders, excitement radiating out from his body. “Come on Lando, show some enthusiasm.”

Over the winter break, Lando had been forced to adjust to being the sensible one for once. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, but Daniel’s enthusiasm sure was infectious. He smiled, a little shy as they fell under the gaze of everyone looking for the source of all that noise. “Alright. Lets get those podiums.”

“I am gonna make you drink so many shoeies this season,” Daniel laughed, ruffling Lando’s hair. “Hope you like foot sweat!”

“… Gross,” Lando mock-grumbled, pressing close into Daniel’s side for a moment, shutting out the noise of the paddock and grounding himself in that ocean scent. When he opened his eyes again he felt ready to take on this challenge, a nervous, electric energy crackling through him.

Daniel spotted Max in the distance and jogged to catch up to him. “VERSTAPPEN! VERSTOPPEN!” Lando smiled watching. Dan really made things feel special and not just like another day at the office. He whipped round as someone grabbed him from behind, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Landooooooo.” Carlos spun him around enough times that Lando was vaguely dizzy when he put him down again.

He took a few moments to size up his old team-mate. Carlos had more stubble now and his hair was longer – Charles had clearly had an effect on him. His eyes swept over the Ferrari polo, lingering on that prancing horse. “You don’t look too bad in red. Still prefer you in orange though.” Lando poked out his tongue.

“It’s not as orange as it was last year,” Carlos pouted for a moment. “Seen Mazepin yet? Honestly, that man. I hope Max punches him.”

That made Lando laugh, hard enough that tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “Not doing rut duty for that knot-head. He can go it alone.” He raised a hand to wave at Yuki as he came past, his scent curiously light, some kind of very delicate flower. Lando’s gaze followed him up the paddock before it turned back to Carlos. “Is he…?”

“He’s not presented yet,” Carlos offered with a shrug. He pulled Lando out of the way of any passers-by and planted a soft, tender kiss on his lips. It felt like coming home at last. “We’ll look after him though, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue to take us home friends. Thanks for reading, love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friendos, this is the second fic I've written in like the last ten years so I would really appreciate feedback and encouragement if you have it. I've been away from the F1 fandom for a few years but lockdown's really brought me back.


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